I got you under my skin
by FanSlewFantasy
Summary: AU, SUFIN, Berwald asks his favourite school student to do him a favour, with awkward results. CONTINUED. M for later chaps, Please read note. I have no clue what I am doing. DL,DR and enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**~I GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN~  
><strong>A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011_  
>SwedenxFinland *<em>**R18***

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_so, heres a sufin i wrote. this itself isnt R18, yet, but we will see...  
><em>

_htt p: /www. youtube. com/w atch?v= cGdIpcj0HJo  
><em>

...

"Y' like to write."

I jumped, clapping my hands down across the paper on my desk to hide it from the sharp, dangerously azul eyes of my usually grimly silent Graphics teacher.

"I uh…" I felt my cheeks colour, hating how he looked at me because I was never sure how to look back. He was so… intimidatingly handsome, like behind his solemn square glasses and flat, rigid voice, he was contemplating picking up the empty chair beside me and bringing it around the side of my head without even batting a suave eyelid. To make things even worse, here he was, just having caught me writing… private stuff in class instead of doing the sofa design concept I was supposed to be. "I suppose?"

My voice was weak and shy, I couldn't help sink back in my chair and made a short pact with myself that if he tried to read it a loud or take it off me, I would just have to eat it and accept the chair to my head like a good child. I knew I shouldn't have been writing it in class… but I just couldn't help it. When he wasn't looming over me like a menacing shadow, he was just so utterly write worthy and amazing and oh god his hand just twitched, like he was making to grab the sheet of refill I was crouched on protectively.

I fisted it, turning away and hoping like hell he would just move on. A piece of eraser pinged me in the back of the head but I ignored it, knowing it was only Ivan trying to harass me into going to the ball with him again, and crossed my toes under the desk, pleading with god, willing for mister Oxenstierna to move on and ignore me _…_

"Hm." A stiff rustle, I watched the cuff of his trousers (who still wore bootlegs, anyway?) flutter as he walked by. A short indignant noise coming from behind me, and the eraser throwing stopped.

"Kids who play w'th erasers d'n't deserve them."

Ivan's protests went uncared for, and still blushing, gnawing my bottom lip I turned my head, to observe from my low slump on my desk my teachers progress up the rest of the row, occasionally snapping stationary out of the hands of misbehaving students and receiving gaping mouthed huffy 'what the fuck's as he did so.

One particularly childish student had the ruler he was using to poke another jerked from his hands and rapped smartly across the back of his knuckles.

I don't think anyone in graphics level two liked the graphics teacher/head of department. Not at all. He was much too rigid, much too efficient, much too… _Swedish_ to sit comfortably in a classroom of rowdy teenagers. He got on with no-one, and spoke instructions only once in his soft no-shit-steel monotone. His attention to detail in everything made him the butt of a million jokes a day.

_Oh no! There's a fingerprint on your development sketch! Clean it up fast, or Mr OCD might have a heart attack._

_Ah well, better a heart attack than spontaneous combustion. Much easier for his ghost to clean up!_

Everyone hated him, I guess you could say.

Everyone except me.

Mr Oxenstierna was only young, and despite his cool stony expression, very _very_ good looking. There weren't many clean, simple men in this part of town. Far too many snots and brats though, scholarship kids who thought they were better than everyone else because they drove exotic cars and wore designer labels. Far too many fat-cat college men, with beards and legacies, and wives behind white picket fences like rows of leering teeth in a broad fake societal smile. Sir, with his smooth shaven chin, natural face and department store shirts and trousers stood out around here, his old and battered yellow car looked humble, compared to the Ferraris and Volkswagens that beaded the streets. I liked that. I liked it a lot, and I liked his jaw, and I liked his shoulders and his nose and his hair and…

I really hated how he did that!

His cold hand on the back of my neck jolted me from my thoughts, I found myself staring right at him, and at the brush of cool skin on my own I started shivering without any decent reason.

"Tino, have y' done y'ur sketch?"

I shook my head, his lips pressed together and he dropped his hand.

"Do it. I want t' speak to y' after class."

With that, he swept away, back to the front of the class and ducking across to walking down the next aisle, and make sure no-one was playing up down there.

With a dismal groan, I slumped face first onto my sloped graphics desk, Set Square sliding sideways, and scrunched the story in my hand to a frustrated little ball. Why was I such a horrible wimp? It wasn't fair…

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me sir?" I clutched my folder closer, trembling in my boots and jumping when the last student besides me, cackling merrily, let the door slam shut behind him, leaving me alone with my terrifying teacher and my own worst fears. The incriminating story had been stuffed into my left boot, and I had prepared a lie if he asked to see it, but really hoped he would not. Something tells me I wouldn't be able to lie to him for long.<p>

"Mm." he nodded, not looking up from the T-Squares he was turning head up and inclined to the edge of his desk in an invitation for me to sit down. "Yes, thank you for staying."

I cleared my throat awkwardly and settled on the edge of the desk.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, adjusting my scarf nervously. Winter was here, tapping on the windows outside with frosted fingers, and I had dressed this morning to accommodate. "For not doing my work in your class, sir."

"Yes." He finished organizing the sets and placed the carefully in the open cupboard by his blackboard. "I know."

My heart did a funny thing, and my fingers curled on the edge of his desk. I hoped he wouldn't give me punishment. Detention, or some horrid thing like that.

"Oh." I stared at the floor, a particularly unpleasant mushroom coloured carpet littered with pencil shavings, and jiggled my leg in impatience.

"That's not what I wanted t' ask y'." His chair creaked a little when he sat down. He wasn't a _small_ man. "I wanted t' talk t' y' about why y' write so much."

"Oh?" I frowned, and shifted uncomfortably. I couldn't avoid looking at him, now he was speaking to me directly, but I couldn't very well let him see my flushed face. "I uh… like it I suppose?"

"Y' suppose?"

"Well… yes. I like it. I do."

"What do y' like t' write ab't?"

I wasn't comfortable answering that.

"Sir, I have to go." I hopped off his desk and pulled up my scarf to hide my pinked cheeks.

"Tino-"

"Please sir, if I'm late for my blush... I mean bus!" back to him I froze and swore under my breath. "If I'm late for my bus I can't get home until much later."

"I wanted t' know if y' would like t' do a favour for me, in regards t' writing up an art'cle t' be published in the yearb'k." He told me in the same emotionless grind. "Think ab't it, let me know tomorrow. I will be here at break, okay?"

Of course, I was much too mortified to respond. I stood there instead numbly, eyes wide and fixed on an isometric projection of a summer house, thinking. _Do__him__a__favour?_Was he serious?

Unable to decide if I should scream in excitement and teenage lovesickness, or pass out in fear, I walked stiffly away.

* * *

><p>I finished reading and looked to Hanatamago for her thoughts.<p>

"So what do you reckon?"

Nothing, she just wiggled around on my bed, clearly quite pleased with what she had accomplished today (sleeping, eating a packet of biscuits mum left on the coffee table, chasing a bird through drifts of muddy snow and getting her paws in a state) and settled with her head resting on my ankle, ready to sleep.

"You can't get comfortable." I told her, clicking my tongue, moving my foot away. "I have to go downstairs soon, for food." The scent of roasting meat was drifting up the stairs, I was salivating and had been for the past half hour. Despite this, she returned to her position and sighing, I let myself fall backward, twitching my foot and scratching her fluffy ear with my big toe.

"Fine then. Don't be useful." I folded the story neatly and set it lovingly on my bedside, a wad of ten pages covered in scribbles and such that I meant to type up, now I had finished. "But I'm quite happy with how it turned out."

I let myself fall silent and watched a trapped moth flit its way dumbly around my mutely eggshell ceiling. The moth's plight was a short one, I thought, as it drew nearer and nearer to the naked bulb dangling from my ceiling. I watched it with an isolated feeling of non-emotion as it drew closer, closer, and then too close, lighting on the surface and searing, bouncing backward and spiralling to the floor below. It had been burnt to either death or disability in its quest to reach the light. Fascinated, I sat up and peered at it, wings flumping lamely, redundant. Hanatamago bounced off the bed and padded over to investigate what I was looking at.

"Tino!" mum's voice carried up the stairs. "Dinner's ready!" but I barely heard her, too absorbed in watching Hana devour her own little post dinner snack.

Suddenly inspired, I leapt off the bed and to my desk, clacking open a drawer and pulling out a notebook and pen.

"Can you put it in the microwave mum? I'm not hungry right now!"

Switching on my desk lamp, I sat down and began to write.

* * *

><p>It took me the whole morning, and a LOT of liquorice alsorts, for me to pluck up the courage to go and see sir was indeed in his classroom that lunch break.<p>

He was looking just as hardworking as usual in jeans and a dark blue plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal pale, pale forearms, his shoulders stretching the seems of the shirt not so much as to be gigantic and unattractive, but instead handsome, and manly. He looked up when I opened the door, from his neat yellow lunchbox of what I immediately recognised as being salmon on Ryvita and to me, standing wide eyed and blushing all over my face.

"Oh." He dropped his eyes and set his cracker down on his desk. "Hello Tino. I didn't think you would come."

"Oh… well…"

"It's okay. Sit, have you eaten?"

Only about three kilograms of liquorice allsorts. I nodded, and clawed at the folder across my chest defending me from his flat stare. A cool prickle of nervous sweat glittered on the nape of my neck. Caught between the instinct to sit, as he told me, and the instinct to excuse myself, I edged to the row of desks in front of his and eased myself cautiously into a seat. He didn't remove his eyes from my face the whole time, velvety blue drilling aggressively through what felt like every flimsy layer of me, and reading all my shameful secrets.

"Y' thought 'bout it?" he spoke softly, measuredly, but still it was scary. I nodded, and forced myself to fix my eyes on his face.

"Yeah…"

"Well, I wan' y' to do it."

He had this habit, it was very evident in his classes, of cutting so swiftly to the very point of a matter it left the audience lost as for what the hell he could be meaning. He never explained himself, never worked his way up to whatever it was he was going to say, he just jumped his way straight there and if you couldn't follow that was your problem. This habit had of course left me for bewildered, my eyebrows arched and I tried to make sense of what I was just told. It was simple, self explanatory statement technically, but that doesn't mean I could make any sense of it…

"Th' school yearbook asked f'r an article about th' graphics department. I can' do it, I'm bad with English. But y' like writing, an' I think y'd be good."

"I…"

"Y'll do it then?"

He gazed at me as always, and I genuinely didn't have a single clue as to what I was supposed to say. Yes? No?

What?

"You want me." I repeated, processing the words, "to write… oh!" suddenly, I understood that he was asking me, and with the understanding came an onslaught of bewilderment. Questions, such as 'why?' and realisations such as 'Oh my god sir I don't think I can do that!' lifted to the surface of my tongue. I swirled them around in my mouth, unable to select an appropriate one. I settled on the half-assed "But sir, I don't know what to write it on!" and left it limply hanging there, hunched and shy under in his presence. He blinked, but made no change in expression.

"Y' missed the field trip to IKEA in June." He stated. And he was right, I had been hospitalized with tonsillitis. "but I would like y' t' write about that anyway."

"But sir-"

"This Saturday, we c'n meet outside the school. I will drive us t' th' IKEA in the city. We c'n make up f'r th' field trip and y'll earn extra credit." He rustled around in his lunchbox and withdrew a small, tinfoil wrapped slice of pork, which he unwrapped with clever French manicured fingers. He had long, feminine nails. Unlike my own, which were chewed short and stubby. "ask y'r parents tonight. L't me know."

He pushed his glasses up his nose with his pinky finger, the nail tapping audibly on square, celluloid frames, before taking a bite of his pork. I remained there, unable to move. The thought of spending a whole, terrifying _day_ with Mr Oxenstierna alone had paralysed me with excitement and horror unanimously, I could barely bring myself to remain standing. My knees had turned to some kind of foamy chum, and had began quivering within the confines of plain blue-jeans for the last two minutes. I was pretty sure I was the colour approximation of a fire-truck.

"Uh…"

He chewed his food still staring at me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that once again, he was reading all the way through me deep into my soul.

"Wh't?"

"Are we… are you allowed to do that?"

"Do wh't?"

"Take me to IKEA in the weekend? Not that I'm implying to have an ulterior motive or anything! I mean, of course you don't! Hahaha who would I mean look at me? Haha… sometimes I crack myself up. But no, I mean will the school let you? I dunno if my parents will. And also, like, what if… oh fuuuuuuuuuck… I'm sorry sir, I'm going to shut up now."

It never failed to astonish me how, in the face of his total, blank indifference, I managed to stick my foot so far in my mouth it came out my ass. His eyebrows arched in the only gesture of emotion I had ever seen him give.

"I'm sorry sir." I covered my face with my hand in an attempt to hide my shame. "I have to go…"

"I wish y'd stop runnin' out on me Tino. Remember t' ask y'r Mum or Dad tonigh'." He pressed his lips together, and I could see the bump of his tongue sweep over his teeth briefly, before he lifted a hand and picked at what must have been a tread of meat caught between two. "L't me know tomorrow, in class."

I nodded helplessly, having never felt so dizzy with adoration and fear in my life, and left.

When I got outside and around the corner, I was free to slump against the wall and jam my knuckle into my mouth to hold my wantful whine.

* * *

><p>My Mother said yes.<p>

My Mother said yes and so I found myself at seven thirty that Saturday, arriving at the school in a scrupulously chosen outfit, (jeans, a white t-shirt, and casual waist-blazer…) trembling in my wool-lined boots. He was already there, handsome in a pair of flares and a powder blue hoodie, bearing a steaming paper cup of coffee and a bag-bagel in his hand. He leaned against the door of his car, not like most of the people in the area who would rather die than let anything touch their glossy hoods, and offered me the cup of coffee and bagel when I arrived. I was startled, but took them with trembling hands.

"… Thank you?"

"I wasn't sure wh't y' wanted on your bagel, so I go' BLT."

"Oh, okay…" I peered into the bag, bangs obscuring my flushed face. Had he really… bought this for me? "Well, I… I don't really like tomato."

"'S'okay. I will eat th' tomato if y' wont. Hop in." he stood up straight and walked around to the driver's door of his car. "Watch th' seat, 't rolls back and forth sometimes."

"Uh…" with the pinky of my coffee cup hand I pulled the door handle up and wrenched it open. "Right. Okay."

My mouth was watering, the smell of the bagel was aggravating the hunger I felt on account of skipped breakfast. I was tired, and had been tossing and turning all last night for fear of today. The coffee smelled wonderful…

Inside his car it was warm, I didn't realise until I was inside how cold it was out there, in the crisp clear car park, until the buffeting of warm air (accented with the perfume of vanilla and cinnamon from the air freshener on the rear view) powdered my skin. There was a toy boat in the front passenger seat.

"Oh." He saw it, grabbed it, and cast it into the back carefully. Doing so, when he leant forward that is, revealed his wrists and part of his forearms. They were smooth, with juts and lines in all the right places, and very creamy looking. "Sorry, that's Pet'rs."

"Who's peter?" I settled in the seat, avoiding his eye and talking only because I didn't want us to fall into one of those bottomless, awkward silences.

"m' son."

"… oh."

It was funny, hearing him say he had a son was like having a ton of rocks dropped into my lower intestine. Suddenly, I wanted to go to the bathroom. My stomach was arrowed with pain and I clenched my hand on the cup so tight that coffee spilled over the lip, burning my hand.

I hissed, dropped the cup, and before my eyes it was everywhere, all over the floor of his cheerful little car.

"…" he stared at the spill in silence, expression no darker than usual but suddenly, through my prism of perspective, fraught with rage. I hurried to pick up the cup, spilling apologies and trying not to spew tears as well. He had a son… so he had a wife… so I was the biggest idiot who ever _lived_. Oh my god. Now I really just wanted to die.

"H're." He grabbed my hand, which I had rather redundantly been trying to use to sop up the wetness and pushed it toward me, unlatching the compartment and withdrawing a towel. "Pet'r gets carsick. I keep this in the car f'r 'im. Put it on th' floor." he snapped the compartment shut and buckled his belt. "if y' want another we c'n go to the café on th' way."

"No!" I shook my head fiercely and stared out the window to hide the tears of misery and mortification that were, rather cruelly, escaping my eyes. "No its fine. Just drive."

I hunched on the seat and pressed my forehead to the passenger window. My bagel remained untouched in my lap, and my breath fogging the glass grew trembling, the more I thought about things. The more I tried to picture his wife, with her wonderfully pretty face and pert breasts, just as efficient and no-nonsense as him until they got to the bedroom and he ravaged her soul with a powerful, angular body and a single, stripping look.

* * *

><p>IKEA was big. Really big. Giant big. And I had never been there before. At all. I didn't know what to expect.<p>

It was about an hours drive away, on the far edge of the other side of the main city, and upon arrival he stopped, leaned over me, unlatched the compartment again and withdrew a neat 1B5 exercise book and pen.

"H're, make notes 'nd do sketches." He passed them to me and got out of the car.

I followed, once I had swallowed my despair and woken up my legs, only to find myself in the broad, shadow cast car park of a looming blue warehouse that consumed the trickle of shoppers strolling in the doors. If there was ever a building that could be mistaken for my graphics teacher, this was it.

"Th' point of th' trip is t' teach students th' common traits of functional design. Wh't y' are looking out f'r is things a certain piece of furniture has in common with other pieces, 'nd questioning why that is so. I will be making sketches as we go, because I didn't last time 'nd think there should be some kind of image t' go with the report, okay?"

"Okay…" I moped in his shadow as we walked across the car park. His back… I gazed with such luscious longing at his shoulder span, the way his hoodie sat on the splayed blades of his frame. "But I still don't understand what exactly I am supposed to put in my report."

He hesitated, glancing sideways at me, and if I hadn't been feeling so glum (my cruel imagination had by this point taken me down paths of his perceived wife writing her name possessively across the planes of those shoulders) I would have been horrified by the look he gave me.

"I don't know, it doesn't matter." He remarked. "Just write it."

We entered IKEA side by side, and I noticed dully that the top of my head was about level with his armpit.

* * *

><p>"Is it okay?" he asked me, reaching for his own fork on the table. "I noticed y' didn't eat the bagel, were y' not hungry?"<p>

"No, I was just feeling a little sick…" I chewed the meatball in my mouth and decide that it tasted pretty good, actually. "I still don't feel right."

The two of us had been walking around IKEA for hours in awful silence, me studying tables and sofas and all the time seeing him fuck his wife against them, him making brief and very accurate sketches, totally pokerfaced and indifferent to how much I just wanted to go home and hide under my bed for the next century. It was almost midday, and I was famished, but I didn't feel capable of digestion so rather than accept his grumbled offer of my own plate of whatever I wanted from the on-site restaurant, I told him I would just have what he was having. He took this as an invitation to buy a single plate of Swedish meatballs and two forks. I was too intimidated to say no, and so, here we were, sharing a plate of meat brutally balled up and stabbed with miniature Swedish flags in a sad mockery of my heart.

"If y' feel ill I c'n get y' some Paracetamol."

"No thanks. I'm alright."

He stared at me, impaled a meatball with his fork, and brought it to his mouth to bite savagely. A drip of he gravy there were rolled in (a fairly nice and rich beef one, actually) clung to his bottom lip. He swiped it aside with his tongue and tipped his head to the side.

"These are Pet'r's favourite." He told me blankly. "I make them a lot for 'im. At home."

"I…" I pushed a meatball around the plate, into a pile of creamy mash potatoes and a weird, beet-root looking relish. "Didn't know you had a son. How old is he?"

"Twelve."

"How long have you been married then?" my grip tightened on my fork. I didn't really want to know…

He looked at me blankly, almost quizzically, chewing his meatball and staring without abashment directly into my eyes. Without replying, He reached his fork forward and nipped the meatball I was toying with onto his own fork. I looked up in shock, but he had already tucked it into his mouth with a look I had never seen before. It was so intimidating, it was more… challenging. Almost… daring? I blinked, but it had passed, and he was as determinedly terrifying as usual with his razorfied and handsome features.

"Ar' y' gunna eat those meatballs?" he pointed to the three that remained on the edge of the plate and I shook my head, pushing it toward him.

We passed the rest of the field trip in awkward silence.

* * *

><p>"H're." Mr Oxenstierna pressed a small packet of sweets on me, just before I unbuckled my belt to slip out of his car. They were foreign, clearly, the writing on the packet I immediately assumed to be Swedish, and heavy despite the fact the box-slash-packet all fit nicely in the palm of my hand. "M' mother sent them t' me, but I don't like them."<p>

"Uh… great?" I frowned at the strange colour, red, with a strange black lozenge on the front beneath the brand-name. "What is it?"

"s'called _salmiak__lakritz_. It's extremely salty liquorice. I noticed y' eating Dutch coins in my class so I thought y' must like that sort of thing."

"Oh…" I nodded in comprehension, my stomach dissolving into tingling and a strange, lustful feeling. "Yeah, I love liquorice. It's Swedish?"

"Finnish."

"Ah. Okay. Thank you." I smiled at him, a flimsy excuse for a grin, and slipped out of the car.

Hana greeted me when I stepped inside, jumping up onto my jeans and leaving paw prints, again.

"Tino, your dog made a mess in the kitchen!" mum screamed almost as soon as I had shut the door behind me. "Come in here a clean it up!"

I groaned and pushed the sweets into my pocket, the exercise book with my notes in it rolled and shoved in there too.

"Yeah yeah, I'm getting there."

I felt pretty bad… all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed.

* * *

><p>I got up on Sunday, booted up my computer, and feeling utterly dead inside began typing up two things: one the report, which I had promised would be handed in on Monday, and two my short story, which I had been unable to get off my mind. The small box of pastille slash sweet things he had given me were my breakfast, and upon having one I found them to be the most heartbreakingly delectable things I had ever tasted in my life, and finished the whole packet, before I had even finished the reports introductory paragraph.<p>

500 words should have been easy. Really it should have. But there really was so painfully little to say about furniture I found myself floundering, my attention returning resiliently to my half typed masterpiece in the other document window, almost reaching its blissful climax. It was a bittersweet story now, but no less precious to me. Just like every single other one I had written over the past seven months.

With a guilty glance around the room, I shut down the report window and opened my story. It was half typed, I had done a lot of it over the week, in neat size twelve type. Inconspicuous, impersonal. But the meaning contained in them was immediately secretive and intimate, word by word they made an embarrassing, aching tribute to my teenaged angst.

My tongue flicked my lower lip, I settled comfortably in bed, propped lowly against pillows and the wall.

I began to type.

By five pm, I had finished it, and I had finished my report, as well.

* * *

><p>"Tino! Hurry up!"<p>

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

I had overslept. My mother was in total rage mode, and I could feel myself, a ticking time bomb of tension, edge closer and closer to juts loosing it entirely and throwing my schoolbag out the goddamn window. Without looking I grabbed the wad of papers I had printed off the night before and crammed into separate manila folders. The report should have been in there, I didn't bother to check, dashing downstairs in a great hurry, leaping over the dog on my way out the door and catching my mother just in time.

* * *

><p>"Hi sir." Disgruntled, I grabbed the folder in my bag and slapped it down on his desk. It was bent, a little rumpled, but otherwise fine. "Sorry if it's bad, I rushed it a little."<p>

I didn't give him time to respond before I had stalked away and taken my seat at the far desk on the other side of the room.

I should have been excited to give my report over to him. Excited, flustered… any number of things, really, but all I could bring myself to feel was a dull 'whatever' feeling. I had had a bad night, plagued with dreams of utter humiliation and awkward moments, and a little too much sex to be comfortable. It was a relief to embrace daylight, but also it was a curse that now I had to rise, and face school, and work, and _him_. Him and his perfect face, and wonderful eyes, and his firm, endlessly distant yet painfully intimate gaze. And oh, who could forget that glorious, so far unfinished isometric drawing of a torch I was supposed to be doing.

The fun times never end, in my life.

I sat down and took a deep breath, forcing myself to cheer up, things couldn't really be that bad, could they? But when I looked at him, and the way he pressed his lips together critically as he opened the folder and went to read the first line or two through his glasses, I felt for a second that actually, maybe they were.

The first part of the class dragged on forever. He set us a task, up at the front and speaking for a good fifteen minutes in his favourite 'ask me no questions, I tell no lies' tone, and everyone went to, procuring rulers and set squares and other such delights. I couldn't be bothered, and remained in my seat waiting until the other class members had finished playing light sabres with them, before grabbing one that hadn't been damaged and starting my own. This took us to about twenty minutes in, but it felt like eternity.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see sir had read my report already, and set it neatly on his desk beneath his coffee mug. Every now and then he would look up from what he was doing, no doubt graphicing on the computer, to lift the corner of the folder and peek at it, as if he didn't quite believe what was there.

I flushed a little, in unexpected pride. Was it so good? Did he like it that much?

I placed my Set Square and T on my desk, setting up my paper carefully beneath and sinking into my seat. Someone had placed a balled up paper there, I recognised the writing on it immediately as Ivan's, and turned around to reprimand him.

"No!" I told him as firmly as I could without hurting his feelings. "I am not going to the ball with you."

His brows furrowed and I turned away, before I had to see him whine and sulk. I focused firmly on my work instead, and for the first time ever found myself genuinely enjoying the way my soft graphite pencil flaked, leaving silver lines and curves on the snowy paper below.

And then before I know it I was surrounded by a clatter. Of pencils being packed up, of rigid plastic rulers snapping against others as they were stacked and packed away. Chairs scraped over the floor and I scrambled to pack up though everyone else was already standing behind their desks looking ready to leave. I was too busy scrapping at the pencil shavings left on my desk, earning accusing glares from everyone. They couldn't leave until I was packed up, but it was their fault, for not telling me class was over.

Mr came to the rescue.

"Everyone can leave, Tino, I would like to talk to you please, once y've done packing."

"okay." I grinned at him, slipping my drawings into a pile and sipping up my pencil case. "Be there in a moment sir." I kicked my chair under my desk and opened my bag.

* * *

><p>The first thing I saw, when I looked inside, was a folder. Not just any folder, but a manila one, dark brown and inconspicuous, identical to the one I had dropped on my teacher's desk an hour before. I frowned, remembering briefly that I had had two folders. One containing my report, the other…<p>

My heart leapt and I yanked out the folder with shaking hands. I could feel the colour draining from my cheeks, pulling every drop of blood from my face and rendering it a sheet white. A feeling of doom had taken over me, and I didn't even need to open it to know…

It was my report. The two light pages I had typed it on fluttered mockingly cheerful when I opened it, the heading in bold, full font. My stomach plummeted, my knees almost gave way beneath me, and all my blood, every drop of it, slingshot back up to my face and flooded it, the sensation not unlike that of being on fire.

Well, my knees gave way and the walls of the classroom around me began to fluctuate, buckling a little and swirling. My hands were shaking, I desperately needed the bathroom, but I wasn't sure if it was because I needed to go, or I needed to throw up. A calm shuffling at the front of the class told me that he was perfectly fine, organising his papers, closing his laptop with a click… all I could think of was watching him read it, blissfully unaware of what I had unwittingly handed over.

"Tino? 're y' okay?"

He noticed me, unmoving, and I nodded on autopilot, closing the folder and placing it carefully on my desk. As if I wasn't embarrassed enough, I felt tears escape me. Tears of horror and self loathing and _oh__god,__what__kind__of__a__sick__human__being__was__I?_

I sniffed deeply and raised a shaking hand to cover my mouth. If there was ever a moment that I wanted the earth to open up and consume me, it was this one.

"Hm." I heard something flick off the surface f his desk, and footsteps muffled by the grubby, shorn carpet. "H're. It was good, b't not what I was look'ng f'r."

Oh god, I couldn't believe it? How could he be so calm about it? So flat and indifferent. There I was, trembling like a leaf and crying my silent eyes out, and all he could do was say 'it's not what he was looking for'.

Well of course it wasn't! He wasn't supposed to see such things, he wasn't supposed to know such things existed! Because I had already long since come to terms with the truth that if he were to know, my life wouldn't be worth living, and he would hate me, _hate__me_ for being the creepy, perverted looser that I am.

My visceral organs had taken on a feeling close to that of ashes. I was both salivating too much, and not enough.

"Ii-it was the wrong one…" I croaked, barely audible. "I…"

"Is this it?" he pointed to the actual report on my desk, his hand the only thing visible beyond the curtain of my hair and shame. The bang of a door signalled the last student leaving, whoever it was too pre-occupied with their own life to pay attention to our quiet exchange, and we were left alone, among desks towering with stoic chairs and the ticking of a clock that was painfully loud in that way school clocks always are.

"… Yeah."

He placed the folder he held down carefully, and picked up the right one, the one with thje report. From so close, his smell was almost overpowering. Clean, sweet, light… and all underlined in a flirt of milk soap. I couldn't describe it. like cool fresh air, mingling with that of a bakery, mingling with that again of the healthy sweat that tended to linger on the skin of only the most attractive men. He sniffed quietly, opened the folder, and I assume scanned it briefly, before humming his approval.

"Thank y' Tino."

I nodded, pressing my lips together, and placed a hand carefully on the folder of humiliation. He cleared his throat.

"But I mean what I said. It was very good."

"Mm." I made a nervous noise, and licked my lips. Things were calming down in my chest, he hadn't raged or anything, like I had anticipated. "I…" I trailed off, not sure what to say.

silence stretched on forever. I was breathing really heavily, and still shivering, and he wasn't moving, his shadow loomed over me, and I whined softly.

"I'm really sorry." I told him. "I just… that was dumb of me. I'm so sorry."

He sighed, and I was surprised to hear it. The first vocal expression I had ever heard from him.

"These things happ'n."

I leapt almost out of my skin when I felt his fingers brush my shoulder lightly. He had warm hands, I could feel then through the cloth of my shirt.

"…" I didn't have anything to say, and after an awkward interval, I felt it would be best if I just left.

"Tino." He said, as I was cramming my stuff back in my bag as fast as I could and making for the door. "… I'm not married."

I froze for a moment, a fresh panic sweat broke on my shoulders. I nodded stiffly and refused to acknowledge his eyes on me.

"Oh."

"I'm very single."

I took a deep breath, tearing up again for some reason, and yanked open the door.

I could still feel his warm touch when I walked away, the flood banks breaking, and sobbing so hard I felt like I was about to faint.

* * *

><p><em>thanks titoes my beta. THE STORY FINLAND WROTE... will be published in chapter two soon.<em> _watch this space. __i dont own the characters in hetalia, nor make any money from writing these fics. :3_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N (**IMPORTANT!** Most of my authors notes aren't important, but this one is, so read it kay?)

HOW DID THIS GET SO MANY REVIEWS? O_o?

Originally, I was going to update this with the little fic 'tino' had written and accidently handed into his teach, but due to popular demand I have instead chosen to instead continue the story as is. This however, means a few ground rules for want of a better term…

-Those of you who had noticed this story was originally posted as 'complete' and had decided to keep an eye out for it in the complete section for when I updated it next time, please note that ONCE I HAVE UPLOADED CHAPTER THREE IT WIL BE MOVED TO THE 'incomplete' SECTION! The only reason it is in the 'complete' section now is for the convenience of those who wanted to read it, but hadn't put it on alrert and suchlike. Please refrain from butthurt about this, it is only temporary.

- Those of you who still wanted to read the fic 'tino' wrote? It will be over the next two or three days uploaded to my Writing tumblr. Link here:

fanslewfantasy. tumblr. com

IT WILL NOT BE POSTED ON FF!

-oh yeah, I have a fanfiction tumblr now. Its basically a place where I publish special chapters, drabbles, unfinished stories, headcannons, small requests, blah blah blah and stuff I don't stick on ff cause they aren't important enough/complete/appropriate. Join in if you want. Its p naked atm…

Okay, that's it. Begin…

…

www. youtube. com/ watch?v = tNjxNYpqJPU

…

"Look," I placed both my hands flat on the desk, the screwed up class exchange sheet pressed beneath the heal of my left. "I don't care what the rules are, I really, desperately, want to change this class."

The woman over the desk in the school office stared at me flatly over the rims of horned glasses.

"Sorry dear." She droned, obviously not sorry at all, "but at this late in the year, you need a genuine reason to switch courses."

I huffed, and hitched my backpack up further, ready to enter panic mode and collapse, crying onto the floor.

"What if I got a note from my mum?"

She shook her head, and I swore.

I was desperate. I was worse than desperate. I was dying, slowly, blindingly desperate to GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. I had graphics next period, and I couldn't keep skipping forever.

"Right." I licked my lips and raked an agitated hand through my hair. "Is there no way, _at all_, that I can get out of this class? Please? _Please." _

She sighed, and rolled her eyes to the computer on her desk. I thought at first, she had chosen to just ignore me, and it was just as I was about to snap at her indignantly she spoke again.

"I think, if you, the principle, and the teacher hold a meeting, and the teacher decides that you will be allowed a switch…"

"No." I shook my head firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Tsk tsk." She shook her head, not looking away from her computer, "no change for you then."

I groaned, throwing my change form on the table and spinning in my heal. "Thanks for nothing," I told her, making ready to leave. "bi-"

"Oh. Tino."

I leapt, having almost collided with the torso of the man entering the office, eyes striking level with his collar. He caught me, moving me to the side and skirting around, a soft glimmer of sweet smelling clothes and big, neat hands.

"I was look'ng for y'."

"Sir?" startled, I stepped back, approximately nineteen times more embarrassed than anyone had ever been before ever. "Sorry! Oh wow, I… I have to go."

"Oh no y' don't. Wait h're." he pointed firmly to the place where I stood, eyes flicking to my feet for a moment and psychically soldering my boots to the floor. "I want t' talk t' y'."

I knew this was coming.

I thought, reduced to a trembling mess where I stood as he approached the reception desk and passed in his roll and another small stack of forms, that I should have predicted, I should have _prepared_, for what was about to come. I couldn't keep skipping his class forever, we were only five months into the year, and face it I really needed the credits. No matter how embarrassing the situation was, or had been… I had been a fool to think that wagging was the right way to go.

Although, I decided when he turned back to face me and stared as blankly yet as paradoxically firmly as I imagine its possible to stare, that I would have done it again without hesitation.

He really was just that terrifying.

Mr Oxenstierna was, and still is, the love of my young life. The object of my SCREAMING teenaged affection and adoration, the absolute PINICLE of BLISS and SEXINESS and god I was _such_ a pathetic hormonal little teenaged brat. The understanding was almost as humiliating as the events that had brought me to this spot and situation, and really was not improved when, indifferently, he beckoned me to follow him out the door, into the flurry of snow (it had begun to snow just a few days since) and past the head kiosk to the graphics block down the school court. Distantly, a bell clanged, and the last students floating around disappeared into classrooms, bringing down umbrellas and peeling of scarves prematurely, revealing flushed pink necks.

"Um, don't you have a class right now sir?" I asked him when we reached his class, and after stepping aside to let me through first we found it empty. A stone of concern fell in my stomach.

"I did." He closed the door behind us. "b't I cancelled it."

"oh…"

This seemed serious. So serious, it was maybe not about the class skipping at all. Maybe it was about the awfulness preceding the class skipping. Oh god… I tried not to think about it. Would I get in trouble, for such behaviour? Could a just-turned-sixteen year old be done for sexual harassment in the workplace? My cousin at the supermarket down the road, for example, told me that if some old creep comes into his work and starts hitting on him, he can place a harassment charge and the supermarket gives him compensation and the man gets a mark on his record. Did those same rules apply? Even though it was an accident?

Actually, forget accident. It had been a _tragedy_.

I snuck my hand in my pocket and rustled around for my salty black bravery, the bag of liquorice I kept there in case I needed it/got hungry/had cravings. He walked to the front of the class, but I hesitated by my old desk, the one with the vicious compass stabbing scars on the left corner, and pulled a chunk of candy out to chew on. I felt a lot safer, and after I had put it in my mouth I let my hand rest on my scarf, my arm protecting me a little, from his scrutiny.

"Don't stand th're. c'me closer. We need t' talk."

I shuffled forward, he sat down behind his desk and without looking up opened his drawer, hunting for something. He pulled out a few things, the primary thing I noticed being a pad of refill paper and a mechanical pencil. And then I stopped again.

"C'me on." He looked up this time, at me standing awkwardly in his class, shivering entirely not on account of cold, swaddled in my crappy blue poofy jacket thing with the fluff that I think was my mothers back when she was a hippy or something.

Ew.

I swallowed, hoping I might be struck by lightning on my way, and made it the rest of the walk to his desk on soggy crust legs. My shoes squeaked, the soles wet, my toes wet, everything wet and gross and just generally unfortunate. He gestured to me to take a seat from the desk closest to his. I did so, and with a wet plop, sat down. I was pretty sure I looked like a ghost, and no way was my shaking discreet. I could see my imminent death from humiliation approaching.

It was gory.

After an extension of moments later, moments that seemed like far too long, he spoke.

"Y' stopped c'ming t' my classes."

I nodded, swallowing my liquorice and wrapping my arms around myself. I couldn't look at his face, and settled for his shoulder instead. It was a nice shoulder. The grey and blue striped cardigan he had chosen that day flattered it handsomely.

"Why?"

"…" I felt myself blush, and shrugged.

This answer though, obviously wasn't enough.

His chair creaked when he sat back, he pushed his glasses up efficiently, I glimpsed it from the corner of my eye, and dropped his hand, wrist resting on the edge of the desk.

"Tino, y' can't keep doing this."

"… I know."

"and y' know that a shrug isn't an exc'se."

"I know."

"Also, I won't be letting y' change fr'm my class. If y' were thinking ab'ut it."

My jaw dropped, and I stared at him, horrified.

"What? Why not?"

"Because y're a good student and I like having y'. …when y' show up." He added as an afterthought, and I sniffed, knotting my fingers in my lap.

"Is this ab'ut that report thing?" he asked, getting to the point so suddenly and no-nonsense I winced. "Because if it is, I told y'. these things happen. S'okay."

I really didn't understand how he could even use that word 'okay' in this situation.

"Um, no." I shook my head at him, probably a little more condescendingly than I had intended. "It's actually really not."

"Tino-"

"How would you feel sir, to totally humiliate yourself and ruin your own life because you were too _stupid_ to check what you were doing with what paper? How would you feel, being the quiet nice kid who no-one except _Ivan _likes, so you have to build your own pathetic fantasy world in your stupid, immature little sicko head? Its not fair sir, and it feels _shit_, and I don't think its right for you to tell me its okay. It is _not._"

He looked at me calmly, not an eyelid batting, and tipped his head to the side. It gave me a second to lull, and realise what I had all just spilled, and I swallowed, blushing even harder, and dropping my eyes.

"I'm sorry, but that's just how I feel. Now if you don't mind, sir, I'm going. I don't think I will be coming back."

"Tino wait." He reached across the desk to stop me in my 'preparing to stand' crouch. "Don't go. I haven't finished t'lking t' y' yet."

"I'm going."

"Oh no y' don't Tino. You come back h're _right _now and listen. Y' always walk out, when I try t' talk with y'!"

I jumped, wide eyed and horrified. It was the highest I had ever heard him lift his voice, and the effect was no less than terrifying.

"… huh?"

"Siddown." He demanded, cheeks a little… pink. With frustration? Murderous rage?

My knees betrayed me, and I had to grab the back of my chair to avoid collapsing.

"Siddown, and listen. I'm not done."

Whelp, I did it. Quick smart. For sure he had almost scared me shitless.

He sniffed, jerked his chin triumphantly, and turned his face from mine, to glare out the window.

"Give this t' y' mother or father. Y' can be expelled for this y' know. Th's is y' warning." he glanced down, picking a neat envelope off the desk and offering it to me. "if I don't hear fr'm th'm, I will assume y' didn't give it and send m' own. I'd give it. if I were y'." a warning look, I shied away, heart quivering in fear, but took the envelope. The mood in the room had darkened considerably and I could _feel_ the negative radiating off of him. It was awful.

"I don't suppose I will see y' in class tomorrow." He passed it over, I couldn't look at him, I was shaking too much and dying to just burst into tears.

But I took it, and he said nothing when I went to leave.

…

I was home before mum today, the note on the fridge reading 'at supermarkets. See u soon' so I assumed she was at the supermarket. The letter, I dropped on to breakfast bar with the rest of the mail, grabbing a handful of the off-season cherries mum had procured from someone somewhere along the line and moping through the house to the sitting room, which was still in the same state I had left it after watching Donald duck on TV over breakfast. A cold bowl of cereal on the coffeetable, next to my computer, a duvet on the sofa and twisted pyjamas cast carelessly on the floor. Hana was sleeping in them. I nudged her with my foot, and she looked up, yawning.

"Move, I need to tidy up before mum comes home."

An indifferent, doggish tip of the head and I sighed, relenting and collapsing onto the sofa. Fuck it, I would just take the wrath due when she got home. I was going to get yelled at anyway, what did it matter?

Bitter, I leaned forward, turned on the tele, and flipped open my laptop. The short article I had been working on for the yearbook (the hockey team one, not the… other one) was still up, shitty as it was that morning. I just couldn't write lately. Not in the least bit. And it was kind of depressing…

I trashed the file and was about to start a new one when suddenly inspiration struck in the form of a soft fump and an excited bark. Hana leapt to her feet, trotting to the sitting room window, and gazing fixedly at the still shivering, snow covered pane. That happened a lot in winter, birds seeing our glowing window in the snowy scene and thinking it was some kind of portal to another, better world. But, as in my life, there was always a frustrating, unfightable something between them and their desires…

…

"Tino!" my mother, worked to a point of exasperation, dropped her fork and slammed her hand down on the table. "What is wrong with you today? You have been acting up for almost three weeks!"

"Have not."

"You _have!_" her voice soared cruelly, and I swallowed the lump of guilt I felt when dampness rimmed her eyes. "First the sulking, then the slobishness, now this!" she gestured to the letter on the table beside the stew pot, and I grumbled, looking out the window at the snow plough chundering down our street instead. "This is unacceptable."

"Mum, its fine, I'm working on it!"

"You had better be! My god Tino, you are better than this!" she rubbed her forehead, agitating the creases there. "I am so disappointed in you!"

"Don't be, its just graphics."

A cold scoff, I shuffled around and forked another mouthful of stew up.

"Besides, my graphics teacher is a big fat jerkoff."

"… Tino!"

"Well he is!" frustrated, I stood up, cleared my plate, and stormed to the sink to drop it in and scrub up. "he's a scary weirdo who cant speak English and doesn't pay me attention at all. I _hate_ him."

If there was one thing I loathed it was not being able to hate someone even though you actually do.

Mum sniffed and reached for the letter.

"Says here that he wants to have a meeting with me tomorrow evening. So I guess I will be able to see that for myself then yes?"

"…it WHAT?" stomach dropping, I sprung around and snatched the message. I don't know why, but I was surprised to see it was typed. Had I been expecting him to write it by hand? There it was though, a small paragraph at the bottom.

_I would appreciate very much if you and Tino could attend a meeting with me, tomorrow if possible. Please ring and let me know ASAP._

It listed a cellphone number.

My knees almost gave way under me.

…

I stomped into school that next morning with either a mission, or a death wish. I made sure I wore my stomping boots, being so small as I was, such precautions were necessary if I wanted to make at least a _little_ impression, and they thumped heavily through the snow in all their 'ten dollars from the used carparts shop down the road' glory. My fuzzy earmuffs and pale blue bomber probably detracted from the effect, but I was pissing cold and one needed to be in premium body condition (temperature wise as well of course) when setting out on a mission to kick graphical ass.

I got five or six strange looks, but I wasn't bothered, huffing and dragging my stupid satchel over my shoulder, heading the total wrong direction to get to my form class but that was cool, I had more important stuff to address.

I had only a brief second of fear and hesitation as I approached his classroom door before shoving it wide open and clomping heavily inside.

I probably could have planned it better though, because duh, of course he had a form class. They weren't actually active yet, the bell was yet to signal nine am, but the room was packed and they all craned their necks to look at me, the person who had smacked the door so hard open it banged like a gunshot in the stillness.

"Oh." I winced and shrunk a little in the doorway. "Sorry…"

"Who are you?" a blonde girl who would have been plain but for her long silver hair regarded me, it shimmered when she turned around. "And what do you want?"

Everybody laughed, and I huffed, trying to look a little less significant than I had before.

"I uh…" I glanced at the front of the class, the desk there empty. "I need to talk to Berwald…"

"Berwald?" she looked at me, frowning. I pinched the back of my hand in agitation, and tried again.

"Mr. Oxenstierna. Is he here?"

"Oh." She lifted her chin and glanced at the desk. "No. He's not." She turned away and I sighed. It wasn't so easy, being pissed, when I didn't have anything to be pissed at. I was just about to leave when someone behind me cleared their throat.

"Tino, c'n y' move please?"

"Oh god!" reeling, I spun around, finding my nose almost pressed to the collar of a white and blue sweater vest shirt combo. Again. I was beginning to get sick of coming face to face with his goddamed _chest_. "Sir!"

"Move."

I looked up and met his eyes, heart trying as hard as possible to escape me. It was now or never, pull myself together for fucks sake, be a man…

"N-No. no, I wan- I _need, _sorry, to talk to you. It's important."

He arched his eyebrow gracefully, but nodded.

"Fine." He guided me gently aside and walked crisply past "wait h're."

…

Sir took me into his office after he had called the roll, beckoning me with a curled finger and a dry look. Well, not a dry look, but a sir look. Totally unreadable, a little overly intimidating.

Actually, scratch intimidating, terrifying.

"Okay. What did y' want?" he sat down behind his desk and gestured to the seat facing, I stepped into his office and looked around, realising with a jolt that this was the first time I had ever been in his office. It was small, spotless, and windowless, a big bookshelf creaking with folios and small wooden models of furniture and stacks of projections. He had a drawing desk on the wall opposite his actual desk, the heavily slanted surface bearing a few design magazines and things. There were framed drawings on the wall, some scrappy, in crayon, like that drawn by a three year old. The others looked cleaner, a little more efficient, and each one had the name 'Peter' written in the bottom right corner in varying degrees of neatness.

"I won't need to sit down." I told him as coldly as I could manage, paying a little more attention now, trying to pick out a photograph or something, of this elusive Peter that clearly, sir played nothing but the doting father for. "I came to tell you that…"

My words failed though, when I glimpsed his face again.

Because sane people just don't say things like 'I hate you you're a bastard why are you ruining my life?' to a man who looked like he could probably, very easily and with minimal hesitation, rip off your head and spit down your throat.

"What?" he asked me flatly, penting his fingers and surveying me over the top of his glasses. "M'ke it quick I have a class and so d' y'."

I swallowed nervously and clenched my fist.

"I uh… it's about this meeting." I huffed and raised my eyes to the ceiling. Curse my shyness, curse it to hell. What was wrong with me? ¨

"Mm. What about it?"

"I uh…" tears were threatening to fall and I sniffed furiously, because if I bawled my eyes out in front of him I would never forgive myself. Ever. "What was it… for, exactly?"

He narrowed his eyes, looking at me as though he could see I was trying not to cry, and after a far too long moment sighed, and leaned forward in his desk.

"Tino, sit d'wn."

"No!" I was beginning to get really agitated now, and in my frustration tears peaked the rims of my eyes and dared to roll sluggishly down my cheeks. "No sir I don't want to sit down!" I dashed the wetness from my eyes angrily and shuffled around in my place, trying to pull myself together. God why was I embarrassing myself like this? I looked so ugly when I cried, he must have thought I was pathetic…

"Tino-"  
>"shush! I'm okay! I'm not crying!" he didn't exactly shrink under my most watery, powerful glower, but he didn't say anything more either, instead remaining there, in his seat, while frozen in place by humiliation I tried to shut myself up and say what it was I needed to say. My hands were shaking horribly. "I'm not crying. I need to talk to you."<p>

We both fell significantly silent, him dropping his gaze to his desk as if he didn't want to see me pink faced and teary like this, and I felt a brief stab of anger to note it. It was suppressed however, and I managed a tenuous grip on my emotions, standing straight and speaking with a slightly trembling voice.

"I wanted to ask you to please not tell my mum about the report thing."

That actually wasn't what I had come here to ask at all, but it would have to do. My original intention had been to punch him so hard his glasses broke and speared his perfect blue eyes, but no… I didn't count on being a totally spineless looser when I set that plan out. I had to come up with another excuse, or run. And I may as well have just died if I had turned around and ran after coming this far. I was already bad enough…

"Tino, y' should kn'w th' report isn't th' problem. Its y' not c'ming t' graphics."

"Just Promise!" I demanded, stepping forward in the heat of my conviction and placing a hand imploringly on his desk. "I'm begging you, don't tell anyone!"

He gazed at my hand for a moment, head tipping thoughtfully to the side.

"St'p beating y'rself over that Tino. It's not that bad…"

I glared harder, and he followed on, saying what I had hoped he would say.

"But okay. I pr'mise."

"good." I swallowed, my swimming eyes meeting his for a moment and my heart pausing gloriously when he blinked, his eyelashes pale and soft looking. "Thank you."

"… tissue?" he gestured to the box on his desk and sniffing I grabbed one and turned my back to wipe my eyes.

It was impossible for me to stay mad at him. But all that rage had to go somewhere, and on my furious clomp out the door I found it wholly, solely directed at myself.

…

"You!" I told my reflection firmly, "are. A pussy. That's what you are, pussy!"

The boy in the mirror mocked me, his brow faintly creased in agitation, his damp hair sticking to his face in weedy strings as I pointed at him, trying to bully him up into something that wasn't a jelly legged fool. The fog from my shower was condensing on the mirror, and downstairs I could hair my mother getting ready. The meeting was in ten minutes, and I still had to finish getting changed.

But first, me myself and I had to sort a few important things.

Specifically, this unfortunate habit I had of crying like a sad little looser whenever I got a little bit of the chills around him.

But I had always been like that though, cruelly shy, even though inside I felt totally normal. Well, normal enough. I had a decent sense of humour, I was a nice guy, I had thoughts and opinions and I happened to go mildly insane with a hockey-stick in hand. So why was it that I just could not manage to hold a decent conversation with him? It was not on. It needed to be fixed. Slicking my hair back, I wiped down the mirror again and leaned forward, examining my face.

I didn't really like my face… it was kind of oval-shaped and plain, and my eyes were too round, and I was really short, but I was kind of cute I supposed. I wondered if the way I looked played any part in the way I was personality wise. Because the boy in the mirror was definitely a shy, sweet looking guy. I couldn't really picture him undercutting some dickwads kneecaps with a hockey stick.

"Tino, are you done?"

Mum called and I glared at him, the reflection boy, and pointing a demanding finger.

"Be good." I warned, and he nodded solemnly in agreement.

"I will if you do."

With that I grabbed my shirt off the radiator and a comb to draw through my hair on my way out the door.

Regretfully, I thought to myself, this was about as close to a date with Berwald Oxenstierna I was ever going to get.

…

"I'd like y' t' have a look at what Tino is capable of…" sir presented my mother with a neat black folio, totally ignoring me and leaving me pondering (a little snappily so) why the hell he had requested I come along if he was going to pretend he didn't see me sitting there the whole time. "if y' take a look at th' dr'wings I'm sure you will see that while he isn't th' best designer he tries, and I don't w'nt t' loose him."

Personally insulted, I made a noise to ensure he knew about it while purse lipped my mother began going through drawings with completely fake interest.

It had been obvious as soon as we had come through the door that this interview would not be, as intended, a constructive learning curve but instead an incredibly gruesome display of her and her stupid biological clock muscling in on _my territory!_

I had never wanted to hit my mother before, I had never thought there was an action in this world capable of pissing me off enough to make me want to, and yet here I was sending her daggers as she played with her hair, batted her eyes, and mooned over _my man-property_ as if she was a bitch on heat.

Why was I born? Why did I even come here? At least he hadn't mentioned the report thing, I supposed.

My mother cast my shitty drawings back down, evidently indifferent about them, and looked back to sir with those dewy eyes that only girls can pull. The ones that just look so obliging and innocent and like they want to make you a sandwich.

I pinched my leg under the desk in scolding for such a thought. Total annihilational furry was not an excuse to get sexist.

"So… what do you suggest we do?"

"Well, I was h'ping y' could talk t' him, maybe make an agreement or find out why he w'nt come to my class. He w'nt tell me."

I jerked my head back in disbelief (was he dumb? How could he not understand the extent of my humiliation right now?) and my mother hummed, nodding. "Well mister…"

"Oxenstierna."

"Oxenstierna. I think I may know the reason for that." She smiled in the bitter, parently way of a mother about to place their child in hot water 'for his own good'. "You see, yesterday I believe he said something about having a strong distaste for you. Although I can't possibly imagine what that might be."

"Mum!" appalled at her, I spoke aloud, standing up and squeaking my chair obnoxiously on the floor in the process. "Don't tell him that!"

"Sit down Tino." She patted my hand. "The adults are talking."

"Yeah, about me! Don't I get a say?"

"Tino, you're embarrassing me…"

"Good! You're embarrassing m-"

"Tino, mad'm, please be quiet. I h've a headache." Sir interrupted us abruptly, stress stretching his voice grimly and stirring a strong anxious feeling in my gut. "Tino, I didn't realise y' had a problem with me-"

"I don't sir she just-"

"You told me you did."

"Yeah well I don-"

"Tino! List'n!" sir was barking now, and that was never a good sign. So I sat back down and shut the hell up and looked at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"if y' do or y' don't that doesn't change th' fact that unless y' start c'ming t' m' classes, y' will be expelled. Please mad'm, m'ke sure he does so in future."

My mum nodded eagerly, tucking her hair behind her ear in a disgustingly obvious flirt, and totally repulsed I had to look away.

As far as I was concerned, this meeting was over. My life was over. I may as well move to Finland and live in a hole for all eternity.

…

Lol, I have no fucking clue what im doing. xD

I don't own hetalia


	3. Chapter 3

_right guys and girls. chapter three is up. (HOW THE FUCK DID THIS GET SO POPULAR?) those of you who wanted a perma-link to tinos story from chaoter one, it is as follows:_

fanslewfantasy. tumblr. com /post/ 13115556370/ settle-down-an-extra-fic-by-fanslewfantasy-writing-as

_I dont own hetalia or the characters, etc etc, enjoy_

...

www. youtube. com/ watch? v=X_bFO1SNRZg&ob =av2e

...

I talked myself up in the mirror before graphics, packing my pockets with liquorice, checking my hair, panicking about the pimple on my jaw, and telling myself over and over to just relax. After almost a month, the horror of what had happened should have faded right? Scabbed a little, etcetera… at least he had made no gesture that negative repercussions would transpire, and that is what I told myself as the end of break bell rang.

"You can do it Tino." A serious look. "He hasn't treated you any different since it happened, and he's not going to start today."

Reflection me only looked half like he believed that, and I still felt a little queasy about it, but after an uneasy night of tossing and turning and crying in anger until I couldn't any more, I was feeling cleansed. Calmer. A little more resolved in my intentions.

I nodded at my counterpart, adjusted my turtle neck one last time, and grabbed my satchel from the bathroom floor before heading on my cold and purposeful way. My jaw was set so hard it probably looked wired shut, and my legs had plankified or something, I could barely bend my knees, but I was okay. I was okay…

Nothing much had changed in graphics class since I had been gone, obviously, except now Ivan had taken my seat so that he could irritate the boy Toris who used to sit in front of me, instead. I didn't bother to fight for my seat back, settling for a desk on the other side of the class, against the wall and under a pinbord tacked with orthographic projections of some kind of fancy lamp. Sir was at the front as always, studious eyes lowered, brow faintly creased in intimidating concentration as he flicked through his planner. He was chewing gum, I noticed. He blew the tiniest of bubbles as he chewed and nipped them back into his mouth again so swiftly it was like clockwork.

Swallowing nervously, reminding myself of my resolution, I tore my eyes away and began to unpack my stuff. Thank god, I thought to myself as I set my squares down on the table, it is Friday. Tonight I could go home, crash, and get all my angst out on paper.

And maybe rub out the tension I was feeling in my pants when Mr Oxenstierna stood, and pushed his fringe swankily off that glorious, bastard face.

"R'ght, could y' all sit down and take out y'r technical sketches." He nudged his glasses up his nose and walked around his desk, the pale blue plaid short he wore flattering his wonderfully triangular body. "For those of who haven't started," a brief glance my way that yanked my heartstrings and made me want to dissolve, before shifting back to the other side of the room again. "I will c'me around and sort it once I've called the roll."

With a dull resignation I understood that meant me, and groaning I slid face first down onto the desk.

The roll was called, a busy sort of 'pretending to get things done' atmosphere filled the room, and I refused to raise my head, I refused to give any sign at all contrary to the fact I hated it here, I despised my life, and I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

I jumped when a large, surprisingly soft hand touched my hair, and sat up to see him already seated next to me, obscured a little by my rumpled bangs.

"Y'okay?"

"Yeah." I grumbled, looking away. I was sure I would never be able to meet his eye again. "I'm fine."

"Good. I'm glad t'see y'in my class again."

"Mm."

A silence, we were in our own little awkward bubble and we would have remained like that for a long while if, sighing heavily, he hadn't stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a familiar, smaller than I had seen previous, box of pastilles.

"H're." he told me softly. "I found these in m' kitchen l'st night."

Well, I suppose maybe I had a reason to be suspicious. I mean, teachers didn't just hand out candy to students, did they? Especially not teachers as intimidating as him. But he had given me the exact same things before, hadn't he? And I had been fine? And they had been delicious, and my internal organs all did a light flutter of excitement about it as I took the sweets, a little hesitantly, and studied the box closely in my hand.

It was still legit and sealed. A little battered, obviously the candy that had gone unwanted at the bottom of the jar for months, but still. It was fine. I blushed, and slipped it into my pocket.

"Um, thank you?" unable to meet his eyes, I stared at my desk instead, and his lovely hands resting on it. It was, I noticed, his left hand. His wedding ring finger naked and incredibly inviting… if I didn't worry he would hit me for it, I would have hooked mine in and give it a squeeze.

He grunted, and leaned forward, resting in the edge of my desk.

"Are y' feeling any better today?" he asked me in a low voice, quiet enough not to attract anyone else's attention, "y' look tired."

"Yeah, I guess." I combed my fingers through my bangs and rested my cheek in my palm. "Look, can we just-"

"H've y' been writing much lately?" he cut me off, eyes dropped to my desk. I could smell something alien on him today, something that smelled aftershavey. It was strong, but bitter. Not very… sir-like. It was nice, but…

"I handed in y're report yesterday. W'nt down a treat."

"I uh…" I pulled back, somewhat startled, and looked at him through widened eyes. His own gaze, cold and aggressive through expensive lenses, was ravaging. "No?"

"Hmm." His eyes twitched a tiny increment narrower and I tightened my fist under my desk. He was very much in my space right then, being very much huge and very much horrifying. "Okay."

With that he sat back, slouching in the chair like some kind of careless, overgrown teenager, and glanced over his shoulder at what he had written in jagged shorthand on the board.

"Th' assignment is easy. Y' just have to show examples of technical drawings bas'd on exist'nt objects…"

* * *

><p>I collapsed on the sofa that evening with a hot-chocolate, the packet of salmiakki and my pad and pen, ready to write something or another, but not really feeling inspired. I flicked through the television channels (three hundred and seventeen) and settled on a foreign kids one, showing a show called 'the Moomins' for the next three hours. It was kind of old looking, but I couldn't deny the characters were sort of sweet, even if I couldn't understand what they were saying.<p>

"Hello Tino." Mum came down stairs humming, and I jumped, having not expected her back for a while yet. She usually worked late on Fridays.

"Oh." I regarded her for a moment, brow creasing to note the sparkly black evening gown she had donned, and tried to figure out if her fine blonde hair looked better in her usual bun, or down, like she had taken it now. "You look… festive."

"Mhmm. That would be because I have a date tonight."

"A date?" I sounded a little too disbelieving, and she noticed, because her eyebrows lilted and she surveyed me defensively.

"Yes, a date. Why so shocked?"

"Shocked? Oh no, I'm not shocked." I lied, waving my hand and sitting up. "But um, if you don't mind me asking… with who?"

She grinned at me, like a ten year old girl with a crush and a secret, and winked. Normally, I would have leapt off the sofa and played the over excited best friend with her, but I was still sulking about the interview thing, and thought about it for only a moment before shrugging and returning my attention to whatever it was on TV. It was kind of adorable.

"Okay then." I called her back, "So what? I'm getting my own dinner and everything?"

"Yah, that would be good. Thanks love." I could hear her smile in her voice, and I guess I was a little happy for her, but I didn't really feel quite happy enough to get up out of my funk and comfy sofa corner and give her a hug. Besides, what a whore, flirting with Berwald last night and going on a date with someone else tonight. Disgusting…

At least she has a real someone to flirt with, a snide voice told me in the back of my mind. She doesn't have to write horrible pornographic fiction to get off…

Oh wait.

A thought occurred to me.

My mother was going to be out of the house for the whole evening. And that meant that suddenly, all the privacy I never had was available to me. All the sexual frustration one attains over a long, arduous days of adoring a man so utterly _godlike_ and untouchable was all very relievable, and I found myself feeling oddly triumphant about it. Humming contentedly to myself, I reached for my laptop and set up a new document.

"Do you know when you will be home then?"

"Hopefully," she retorted from the kitchen, "I won't be until tomorrow."

"Ew." I pulled a face, and her laughter carried. Hana stirred in her little snuggle by the fire and stretched, eager to investigate the alien sound.

"But no, seriously Tino. I will probably be home after midnight, so please go to bed before 11pm, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever."

"Good." She clattered back from the kitchen, rustling around in her handbag and approaching behind me to plant a brief kiss on my crown. "Say, why don't you do your missing graphics assignments, hm? Instead of writing that rubbish you do."

"Mum! It's not rubbish!" indignant, I turned to her and she shrugged, evidently in the best mood she had been in for months.

"Okay, whatever you say kiddo. Goodnight."

"Night…" sinking lower in my seat I returned my attention to my new story.

I was birthed by a crazy woman.

* * *

><p>My bed was warm, and Hana seemed cosy, curled up beside me snoring softly. My laptop open on my lap was currently boasting a window of three page document, and over all, things were looking quite relaxing. I had a cup of cocoa, and a raging erection. And while drinking the cocoa would have been relatively rewarding… I could think of something much, much better.<p>

"Hana." I jiggled her, to wake her from slumber and get her off my bed. "Mooveee…"

She didn't seem happy about it, but obliged, and as soon as she did so I snapped my computer shut, turned off my bedside lamp, and threw myself back into the mountains of pillows on my bed. My duvet fluttered over me, and I reached back, finding some small cushion or another and dragging it down to clutch to my chest in a moment of reflection and caution.

Not a noise from anywhere in the house… no cars on the street. Nothing but my dogs anxious snuffling as she settled in her basket beneath my window.

I wondered briefly if I should let her out, but frowned into the darkness. What did it matter? She was, by the sounds of things, already back to sleep, and it wasn't like she would tell anyone.

Sighing I rolled over onto my stomach, and tucked the cushion against my chest beneath the blankets and between my legs. Slipping the front of my boxer shorts down, making a mental note to change the pillowslip in the morning, I tightened my thighs around it and sat up a little, shoulders flexing, back arching in a way I like to think would be graceful. My bangs fell forward, and I let them, tipping my head to the side and relaxing into the stance. It was comfortable, straddling something, and arousing, and I felt kind of sexy. In the dark, anyway. My duvet slipped down my waist a little and I closed my eyes, picturing him, his eyes, his hair, his face…

I didn't do this often. Really I didn't. For one, the way I liked to do it was way loud, and for two I wasn't _that_ sexually frustrated. A lot of my lust was worked out pretty eloquently on paper, and I found that usually it was only when I was stressed or upset I needed to really relieve myself physically. Actually, I was a little ashamed about it. I mean, it was weird, right? Pretending to have sex with someone against their will or without their knowledge… it was shallow and fake and meaningless. Exactly like the rest of my romantic career…

Oh wow. Stop thinking about that, I scolded myself, or I would never get off.

Flushing, feeling like a pathetic human being, I pushed my hips forward a little. The feeling of soft cotton yielding beneath my erection was distracting and pleasant, I bit my lip, and let my body sink into the motion. Because it was all about the motion, I thought to myself. There was nothing sexier a guy could do for another man than take him like a little bitch.

God I felt hot moving my hips.

Pressing my lips together, fists tightening in the sheets, I searched cautiously for a smooth, mechanic rhythm. It took a little while, but soon I had fell into a patient pattern, the bed creaking only a little beneath me as I moved. It was good, it was calm, and I leased a shakily breath for a moment, cracking my eyes open and seeing only darkness from behind the haze of my eyelashes. It was better with my eyes shut, because unsympathetic reality was a little more cold edged than my fantasy world. Within the warmth of my own mind I could almost imagine big, soft hands stroking my sides and pulling my hips gently forward and back. I could almost convince myself that the soft, succumbing stuffing of the pillow my legs were clenched around was flesh and bone, crushing so tightly between my thighs it hurts him. I could feel the warmth of another body, the illusion of being touched, guided, held. Of having a flat, breathless voice cream over me.

_Beautif'l, beautif'l…Tino…_

"Nghh…" wincing, I curved my back a little more, to rub myself in just the right way, and found a soft bump inside the pillow, right against my behind. It was a little teasing, and not at all rigid enough to satisfy, but the allusion it made to something firm and masculine and wondrous curled my toes and hunched my shoulders. I let my head tip back limply, my hair falling in a short curtain and swaying with my motion. My lip sunk beneath the point of my tooth and finding balance on one hand, not loosing a beat of my hips, I slid the other over cool sheets and pillow, delving between my legs and arching it softly over my erection. The pressure was a little hot, I should have gotten something for lubrication, but it didn't make that much difference.

I masturbated languidly, deeply, and when at last I felt my body give in, tightening gloriously and quivering before crashing into a boneless heap on my bed, I fell almost straight asleep.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful, but cold clear day when I rose, and opened my curtains wide enough to survey the world beyond. The sky was of the particular crystallinity I associated with <em>his<em> eyes, and the chill breeze when I cracked open my window hopelessly exhilarating. The street was prettily wreathed in snow, the wind still. Pale canary yellow sunshine glinted on windows and icicles, the smell of fresh winter stirred a peace within me. A wonderful, 'everything is alright' peace. I had my graphics assignment to do, I knew. Actually, I had several, but the inclination to do them wasn't taking me, and so rather than dip into my backpack and do it I stripped off, redressed in some fresh, lighter clothes, and skipped lightly downstairs.

"Hi mum." I chirped at her, sitting on the sofa in her robe and sipping a coffee. "How was your date?"

She smiled brightly at me, eyes glowing, and tucked a tress of blonde behind her ear.

"It was wonderful… romantic, classy, perfect…"

"I noticed you didn't stay over?" teasing, I stuck my tongue out, and she chuckled.

"No. But gosh, Tino, it's wonderful to see you in a better mood today."

I shrugged. "I had a really great sleep last night, is all. I'm going to take Hana for a walk. What's the time?"

I glanced at the clock; it was just a little before ten.

"Okay, but take a scarf and an up-and-go from the fridge."

"Yes mum, of course." Way ahead of her, I had already grabbed a scarf and beanie from the hook behind the door and chucked them on my head and neck respectively. Hana's leash was there too, and as soon as I took it she was up and trotting eagerly forward, tail waggling.

"Hello!" grinning, I swept her up and buried my nose in her fur. She wiggled, excited, and licked my face, it was gross but sweet at the same time, and laughing I set her down again to attach the leash. One can of drinkable breakfast later I was out the door, the cold fresh air stealing my breath away.

There were plenty of places I could have gone, but like always, I made a beeline for my favourite.

Prince Lake was a small local park, with a quaint little lake and pretty walkway necklacing it. The wrought iron fence around the edge of the lake glittered in this season, draped with fairy lights all year round but only really glowing in the cold. The pretty cafes and teashops (nestled between the ankles of towering, naked trees) dotted occasionally around the area were sweet and filled with life. There was a frost covered playground frequented by local families on the way, and as I passed by, dog trotting eagerly in front of me, one of the small girls sitting on the swing set waved at me. I waved back, and carried on walking.

God I felt good.

I knew that come Monday, when I was trudging the way to school with my (unfinished) graphics assignment in hand, I would not feel anywhere near as good. I knew that I had graphics first thing, and that the dead sexy asshole would be there, looking dead sexy and totally incapacitating me so far as dignified conduct goes. But for then, in that moment of time, everything was as it should be, and nothing hurt.

* * *

><p>Things started hurting again pretty soon… when I got home and realised I should sit down and do my stupid graphics for example. A mission if there ever was one. I decided to do a table, a mug, and a food processor because they were easy and I had one of each on my kitchen. It proved to be just as boring as I had anticipated, if not worse, and I found myself sitting in rather a state of despair part way through rendering a food-processor blade, in all its glittery sharp glory. Outside it had once again fallen dark.<p>

* * *

><p>I snuck ever so surreptitiously through into the kitchen, my bare feet silencing me but freezing on the floor. The neon glow of the stove clock boasted two twenty seven am Sunday, and I giggled, feeling very naughty, and edged to the fridge.<p>

I had been up typing like a madman since seven pm, driven by Redbull and a bitter sweet lust to own him, to fuck him so thoroughly in my mind that he can barely think straight. And I had to say, I was pretty satisfied with the result. Call it a sadistic revenge, but actually, I genuinely felt better now, about my lot in life.

Maybe that would fade, once I had slept, but right now I felt rather superior, and very much in charge.

Smiling, I twirled in the dark of the kitchen, the lightness of my feet magical and twinkling across linoleum, toward the refrigerator. Maybe it helped, that I was only wearing a loose and flimsy singlet over small shorts, but I felt pretty sexy. The night always made me feel sexy. Especially when I was alone and hot over something I had myself created.

I moved lightly and pulled the fridge open, the seal kissing lightly and a slice of radiance falling out, illuminating the kitchen floor.

I hummed, noting the cake on the shelf at the back, and bending at the waist and stretching luxuriously out to taste the cream on the top. It was sweet…

"Tino, what do you think you are doing?"

"Ohshit!" I jumped and knocked my head on the edge of the fridge. The glare of the kitchen lights were harsh, and I stumbled backward, pink faced, trying to look like I hadn't totally been caught stealing tastes. "Hi mum!"

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking dowdy as fuck in trackpants and a t-shirt. She seemed slightly… surprised to see me. Which was uncalled for. It was my house too.

"What are you doing?"

"I… was hungry."

"… What are you wearing?"

"Clothes."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Tino, that's not clothes…"

I shrugged, and while she was distracted, grabbed a banana from the inside door of the fridge.

"Nothing wrong with them, Mum."

She looked over me again, a little more critically than probably necessary, and stepped forward.

"That camisole is… did I buy that for you?"

"Nope. Got it for myself." I glanced into the fridge, saw an apple I might like to devour, and edged my hand toward it while she was distracted. "Why?"

She sighed, looking at me for a moment with a faint crease between her eyebrows.

"Tino… is there anything you want to tell me right now? Any… strange feelings or something that may account for your weird behaviour lately?" I could tell she was talking about my outfit. Which was not justified, at all, because there was nothing wrong with it, thanks very much. I rolled my eyes.

"No Mum, I'm the same as I always have been. I just haven't eaten yet."

"So why are you wearing women's underwear?"

"I am NOT wearing women's underwear."

I grabbed the apple and knocked the door shut with my hip. My mum immediately honed in on the banana I had already grabbed and pointed to it.

"That a banana?"

"What? I'm hungry." I went to leave, but was stopped in my tracks. A stern hand waved in my face.

"You aren't taking that banana up to your room at half past two. Eat it here please." She passed me by and opened the refrigerator again. "And we need to have a rather serious discussion about why you are up at this time of night. It's bad for you, you know. You are still growing, and…"

I sighed, weary of such bullshit, and zipped open my banana. My eyes skated over the decoration in the room, same as always, plain, non-offensive…

Even the pictures on the fridge were the same. Mostly of me, playing hockey, eating ice cream, pulling pissed off faces when she dressed me up as Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer one Halloween…

But one immediately leapt out. It wasn't a photo, it was a drawing, and I wondered how I hadn't noticed it before…

"What's that?" I asked, cutting her tirade off in my distraction. She frowned, clearly unimpressed, and turned her head to see what I was pointing to.

"Oh!" her face lit up upon spying it, and I may have unwittingly just got myself off the metaphorical hook. "That! My date drew it for me. It's nice huh?"

Nice… was an understatement. More like absolutely beautiful. I had never seen a more flattering portrait of my mother. She looked young, pretty, rendered meticulously in what I suspected was blue biro. Amazed, I edged past her and propped myself up on my toes, to study the cross hatching on the nose, and subtly suggested details like her lip line, hairline, and even the faint freckles on her cheeks. She was smiling. It was drawn on what looked like a serviette.

"Yes! What, did he draw this while you were waiting for your soup?"

"For the cheque, actually. He just… pulled a pen out of his pant pocket and started scribbling. And then four minutes later…" she waved her hand and smiled, as if reflecting on how perfectly wonderful a catch she had made. "Oh, he's so talented."

"I'll say…" I inspected the drawing again, a little intrigued by it. It was flawless, flattering, and certainly bursting with skill. But I dunno. Call me crazy… it seemed kind of flat. Like it was missing something important…

Shrugging it off, I nipped my carton of milk off the counter and sighed.

"Well, okay then. Good job."

And before she could realise what had happened and snap at me, I made my exit.

* * *

><p>Monday, I had graphics last, and reluctantly I made my way into the classroom and deposited myself into my new seat with my half done sketches in my folio. Sir was already in his seat, evaluating his day plan, and as if he was listening up for my arrival he lifted his face when I arrived, and without taking his eyes off me, pushed his glasses up his nose.<p>

I pretended not to notice.

"Tino, could I see y' after class again please?" He called after me while everyone else was packing up, and my stomach sank to somewhere around my knees. And I had been very much in a hurry to get packed and get out too…

Miserably, I eased my haste and sat back down in my seat. Sir neatened his desk like the meticulous bastard he is, and tucked his mechanical pencil behind his ear in a gut wrenching display of sexiness, before standing. He had strayed from his usual blue outfitting today in favour of a duckling yellow, perfectly neat turtle neck and black skinny jeans. Skinny jeans looked strange on him, but they flattered his ass something fierce when he stood, and I decided that I rather liked them after all. Just not in public. Maybe in a bedroom. With me. Alone.

I clawed my fingers on my desk and crossed my legs.

He took his sweet time getting to me, shuffling some more papers, tidying up the room, and watching carefully after Ivan, as he packed up his own drawings and hurried out the door. It was like… he wanted to be totally him and me, when we started this.

My heart had a bit of a fit, but I told it to calm down and shut up, for god's sake, for once in its stupid sissy life.

He cleared his throat, and this time, rather than sit behind his own desk and call me over, he approached me, a little awkwardly actually, and sat down. Not sat down in a chair, either. Sat down on a desk, the one to my side, and surprised I myself sat up straighter in my seat.

"Um…"

"I need to talk to y'."

"Well… clearly." Embarrassed, I wiggled around a little, and tried not to think about how over the weekend I had had some great orgasms over this man, and looked instead at my backpack on my desk. It was a good backpack…

He noticed where I was looking, and made a soft hum of surprise.

"Fjallraven Kånken," he pointed out. "It's a Swedish brand."

I shrugged, indifferent, and slumped forward over my desk.

"Can we not talk about my backpack sir?"

He sighed.

"Okay, if y're going t' be like that. I want'd t' talk t' y' about your report."

"… Again?"

"Again."

I groaned and let my face grind against the surface of the desk.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Noth'ng. I didn't want t' talk about that one. I just w'snt sure how t' bring up… the other one."

"… Oh."

And there it was. That horrible, grey cloud lurking over my consciousness suddenly cracked, and the metaphorical storm cloud rumbled, and I waited for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. The scabby seam of my healing wound popped open and a grim flood of anxiety pissed out. I whined and rolled my face to the side.

"Kill me…" I told him dully. "Please just kill me."

He frowned, and I could see that obviously, he had no intention to do that at all. Which was strange, because usually he seemed more than capable of killing me.

"No… I don't… no…" he bit his lip and tilted his head to the side. "No. that wouldn't be a very acceptable thing f'r me t' do. Especially as things are. We need t' sort some things out, okay?"

I nodded, totally depressed about my everything, but resigned to doing this and getting it over with at least, so I could get on with my life. After all, my life owes me. I was a good boy. I did my graphics, I was a nice enough. I had to stop sitting around and whining and groaning.

Resolved, I took a deep breath, and sat up.

That action of sitting was I think, a pivotal moment in my life. It was the moment that suddenly, I felt okay. It was like suddenly, now I was sitting eye to eye with him. I could see him, and he could see me, and he seemed astonished that I had sat up again, almost as much as me, when I managed a small smile.

"Okay. Okay fine. I'm ready."


	4. Chapter 4

"Have y' got anything y' wanted t' say t' me then, Tino?"

"… Yes, actually. There is." He nodded solemnly.

"Well, would y' like t' say it here or come t' my office?"

I almost fell of my chair, the flimsy confidence I had taken on to sit wavered.

"… Office is good!" I leapt out of my seat when, without warning, he stood and, drawing his keys from his pockets, made way to the door. "Leave your bag here," he told me shortly. "Y' can come back and get it." Leave… my bag? Why? Why would he ask that? It's not like it's a big obstruction to anything. Was he worried it was going to get in the way? Way of what?

My knees turned to foolish jelly when the thought 'Maybe he just wants to take you in there and ravish you all over his office' occurred to me before I could restrict it. I whined softly and scurried after him, my face a no-doubt painful colour pink. His office hadn't changed a bit since I had been in there the week before. It was still neat, still decorated with drawings, and still smelling wonderful. There was a bowl of some kind of food on his desk, small wee biscuits or something and he gestured to the bowl graciously.

"Take s'me. Pepper nuts, they are."

"Um… thank you." I grabbed a handful and consumed them all, hoping, on some messed up level of myself, that he had drugged them and that when I woke I would be in the boot of his car, fucked till no tomorrow, and wearing some sort of humiliatingly sexy outfit. My stupid fantasy nearly had me on the floor. Swaying, I grabbed to the edge of his desk and moved closer. He had settled in his chair behind and was rummaging through books and papers for a pen.

"Hang on Tino, I just need t' write something. D' y' want t' sit?" He pointed to the chair opposite him when he located a biro, before turning his face down and scribbling something on his hand.

I sat because when a man like that, who is about to interrogate you on being a pervert and invites you to sit down, you don't refuse. He hummed and set the pen down, returning his attention to me.

Sir was looking… a little more worn than usual. I sincerely hoped that was not on account of me but one could never be sure. Under his eyes were darker, his hair a little duller, and he had the beginnings of a zit on his chin by the right corner of his lip. Or maybe it was a cold sore. That's not to say he still didn't look heartbreakingly handsome. It was just slightly more like a weathered handsome, and his aura was not particularly different from usual. That is to say, dark as a storm and charged with some kind of wrathful lightning.

I hoped he wasn't going to murder me right now, in the privacy of his own office. I sincerely did. Maybe that's why he asked me to leave my bag? He was worried there would be like… weapons or something in there. Oh god… what if he would? Just kill me and then rape the body, or dump it in a river or something? Who would be any the wiser? My mum might take a few days to realise… only my dog and the hockey coach would be really likely to notice. I must have blanched a little or something because he raised an eyebrow, and offered me a drink from the bottle on his desk. I declined and, with a churning stomach, smoothed my hair in a fruitless attempt to calm myself.

"Are y' okay? Y' look dead pale." I laughed in a totally retarded way, hated myself for it, and the look I got in response was probably the most horrible I've ever gotten from him (A mix between 'Is he having a heart attack in my office?' and 'Oh my God, the kid is a freak') but also, in its own hideous way, so subtle I would have missed it had I not been worked right up already.

Someone should make a TV series about the humiliating agony of my daily life.

"… Anyway." I nodded, sucking my teeth in anxiety and he adjusted his glasses, not looking at me.

"I've b'n meaning t' find a window of opportunity t' talk with y' for a while, but have had s'me trouble. I just want' t' ask if y' were okay, and if everything is okay at h'me and in y're private life and such."

I was a little taken aback.

Here I was, expecting a merciless tirade of 'you are a creepy, creepy son of a bitch and I hate you', or maybe a big fun old stabbing, but no. Instead, he was sitting, in all seriousness, opposite of me, asking if… asking if I was okay.

"Well," I retorted in my bewilderment, without thinking. "I don't think that's your business, sir." I clapped my hand over my mouth as soon as it was said, too scared to believe I had actually…

"… No need t' be rude, Tino." He didn't even seem phased. "I only ask because I worry th't some of y'r… peculiar behaviours might have s'mething t' do with y' personal life. Not mentioning any specific events ..." Oh, that bastard was so mentioning specific events. "... but lately y' have done s'me questionable things and its not like y'."

"Oh, I'm sorry ..." My defenses were right up now. "... but how would you know, sir? You don't know anything about me."

I never have been sure, if I was fiery, or just plain stupid.

"Tino-"

"No, hey, shut up. I haven't finished." One thing that just sort of happened to a boy, when he was small and blonde and soft looking, was that people… they just assumed things about me. They muscled all in, trying to protect me and help me and other such ridiculous bullshit, as if I was some kind of four year old with a pants-wetting problem. There wasn't much in this world, that touched raw nerves in me, but people like that was one of them. I despised it. Sure, I may be an idiot, sometimes I fucked up big time, and I tended to over react a bit, but show me a teenager who didn't? Oh my God, and here I was, sitting here wanting nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in my stupid, teenager angst like I would never be allowed to if I was five or so years older, when assumptive sexy motherfuckers come along thinking they actually have the right to talk down to me. It was enough to make me sick with fury. Everyone else was allowed to be stupid and hormonal. Why cant I?

"In case you haven't noticed, sir, I'm totally aware of how badly I fucked up and I am really much too busy beating myself up over it to pretend to care what you think. Actually, I just wish you would leave me the fuck alone about it because it's not helping. And don't pretend that you want to help me, okay? I don't need your pity." I pointed at him as bravely as I could, narrowing my eyes and picturing him as a hockey puck or some other wailable object. "I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want your help."

"… You seemed okay to talk about it before."

"Yeah, when I thought you were just going to tell me I was a freak of nature and to back off! And then I come in here, and you're all cool about it like 'oh, Tino, are y' okay? I want t' fucking help y' Tino, y' poor pathetic little brat. I'm not going t' hurt your poor feelings, instead I'm going to be a self-rightious PRICK, and leave you in emotional purgatory while I fucking PRANCE AROUND like nothing ever happened!' Well, fuck you, sir!"

"… I do not sound like that." I almost died in frustration right then and there. I struggled to express my hatred and disgust in a single look. Clearly indifferent to my suffering, he reached across the table for a neat black covered spiral bound book. He flipped it open, patted his breast for a pen, but in the end picked the discarded one from earlier from the desk. "Well, excuse me, Tino, for not knowing what I'm supposed t' do in the situation."

"How about you just leave me alone."

"Or, how about I don't, and you say t' me whatever it is you are clearly dying to."

"I don't have anything I want to say to you."

"Fine. Then I will say to you, exactly what I think when you act out like this." He spoke with slow, deliberate clarity, and it was the first time I heard past his casual accent to whatever it was beyond that. A somehow much deeper, much more foreign way of speaking, it was like he wasn't even understanding the English he was saying, but also, he was. Much more than one would usually. His eyes had darkened a lot, and to emphasize his point he removed his glasses, revealing them to me properly for the first time. My stomach plummeted, and the tension in the room suddenly skyrocketed to a point it felt like we were encased in frigid glass. The anger in my stomach turned cold, a frozen sweat prickled on the nape of my neck… It's crazy, when you think about it, how much emotions can effect a person, and the atmosphere. It was the first time I had seen him sans glasses, and his eyes, for all their demonic seeming, were beautiful. Truly, honest to god, beautiful. The colour was extreme, and unnatural, his eyelashes were "no-nonsense" and twiggy. But despite the beauty, I couldn't be enraptured. I was too busy meeting them with a defiance I didn't even know I had, prepared to fight to my dignity's death, for the right to be left to my own devices and wallow in my own misery.

Maybe, it was a stupid thing to want. Maybe I was a bit stubborn, and pig headed, but I had never been so convicted to anything as I was to this cause in this moment. It was war, now. Bring it on sir, show me your worst.

"I like you, Tino. You are a nice boy, even if you are a terrible designer. I like having you in my class, and I like how of all the students I have ever had, you alone made the effort to smile at me, if we passed in the street. I wanted to say this earlier, I wasn't sure how to go about it and I'm sorry for waiting so long, But you are my student. You are young enough to be my son. And I don't want to make assumptions but I think its pretty clear what your intentions are."

"Intentions." I scoffed. "I have no intentions! Who said anything about intentions? What I do in the privacy of my own mind is my own business."

"If it relates to me, then it's my business too."

"Oooh, what are you going to do? Get a restraining order for my brain? Good luck. I'm sooooooo scared."

"Tino, stop being a little pratt."

"How about you stop being a cunt." He looked as though I may have just slapped him. Which I wish I had.

"Well someone is defensive."

"I am NOT defensive!"

"So stop acting like it."

"Ughhh!" God, who could have guessed he was this insufferable! I was so not over reacting about this! He was the biggest asshole who ever lived! How could I ever have even liked this guy? Holy shit! "Stop yelling at me! This is your fault, you know!"

"How is it-"

"I don't know but it is! It fucking is!" I balled my fist in agitation when I realised my eyes were beginning with that awful prickly feeling, and my cheeks beginning to burn. "It's not my fault! It's not! Stop treating me like it is!"

"Tino." I heard, rather than saw him, stand up and reach for my arm over the desk, his voice soft again, that cold clarity of before replaced with his now very guilty usual speech. I was to busy hunched in the chair, screwing the palms of my hands into my eyes and willing away tears that had no right being there. "Tino here, s'okay…"

"It is not!" I hit away the hand that had come to brush my shoulder. "Stop telling me it's okay! Leave me alone!" And the sound of my crying, and his clothes rustling as he sat back down in the chair, was the only sound that I registered in the room.

By this point, I suppose I should have been embarrassed that he had now seen me crying more than he had probably seen me not, and yet… I didn't really feel like I had any embarrassment left. He left me alone for a little moment, to sob and sniffle, and compose myself just a little. As fast as my hot flash had struck, it passed, and soon enough I had eased my tears, and I suppose he decided it was safe to try again with the good guy routine by standing up (his chair creaked as he did so), and shifting around so that I could smell his unfamiliar new aftershave beside me.

"Tino?" A hand brushed my shoulder, maybe intentionally, or maybe accidentally sweeping a lock of hair back off the side of my face. "Are y' okay?" I nodded sniffing, raising my head and wiping my eyes dry with the tip of my index finger. I probably looked like a right disgrace.

"D' y' want a drink of water now?"

Again I nodded, still a little shaky, and with a soft noise of consent he leaned over the desk, his hand pressing against my shoulder, to pick the bottle and pass it to me. It was unopened, I cracked open the lid and took a big gulp, but it was hard to hold the bottle still with my trembling hands, and it spilled a little. I laughed, but it wasn't my laugh. It was too high, and uncomfortable.

"Oops," I croaked, handing it back. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. It's y'r shirt." Again with the strange giggle. We remained there for the shortest of moments longer, me sitting stock still with my hands in my lap, him with his hand resting on my shoulder and rubbing slowly, in a ghostly attempt of comforting, before I realised I should probably go. I had homework to do…

"Sir, I have to leave." I stood up, still not wanting to meet his eyes, and glanced around for my bag before remembering I had left it in the class. Recalling how he was touching me, he withdrew, and let me stand with no fuss.

"We haven't really finished talking…"

"I can't talk about this any more today, sir."

"Tino-"

"Please." Fraught with anxiety, and a longing to get out and away from him and everything, I managed to lift my face and blink wet lashes at him. "I need to go home and think."

"… Hm." He was still missing his glasses, and he stared at me for a moment, taking in my red cheeks, watery eyes and probably embarrassingly wet nose, seeing me in possibly the worst state ever, before sighing and reaching forward to dash a missed teartrack off my left cheek with his thumb. It was cool and soft, brushing like a feather from my cheekbone down to the corner of my lip where it had stopped, and it left a glowing trail of silver glittering on my skin. I closed my eyes, focusing on the brief sensation. "Have a good evening then."

"You too, sir."

"Come t' class on Wednesday?"

"I will."And I don't think I've ever longed so hard for anyone to sweep down and kiss me. But he didn't. He moved his hand and stepped aside to let me out, and I went with my hand pressed against my touched and suddenly obscenely sensitive cheek the whole way home.

…

The next time we talked, I approached him.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and after a lot of soul searching, and replaying the scene over and over in my head… I found the strength in myself to actually stay after class, collecting set squares and compasses, and handing them in after everyone else had evacuated the neat classroom.

"Sir?" I wrung my scarf anxiously in my hands, my vision obscured a little by my beanie pressing my bangs into my eyes. "Can we chat again?"

"Course," He answered, not missing a beat. "What about?"

"The report incident." He hesitated for a moment, staring at his planner and then slowly, carefully closing it and sighing.

"Sure ... but I'm just about t' go get a coffee right n'w."

"Uh…"

"Y' can come with, but don't tell anyone or I could get in a lot of trouble."

"Oh.." I managed a small smile. "Sure." I suppose I was a little surprised, that I didn't feel that awkward about it. I mean, he was astonishingly professional about things, and he may as well have been telling me about an extra page of homework. Maybe I was just too tired to even be excited about it, and so somewhat dutifully it was that I waited for him to pull on his coat an tie the ties, before following him as he left the classroom, and locked it in his wake. We walked through the school in silence, him sending a text message with painful slowness on a phone that may have been from the stone age, and me worrying my lip, wondering how to say what I had practiced over and over in the mirror last night, so much so that I had even had three or four somewhat terrifying dreams about saying to his face.

In all honesty, I was a little eager to say it, hanging on the line and waiting to just spill when he said go. I had had enough of this stress, this pressure, and the more I edged around him, the harder it got, and if I didn't get ot off my chest, I knew I was just going to snap.

But then again, that may just have been the mood I was in today. I could not really justify the way I felt at the moment, so much as I believed I felt it with all my heart. Tomorrow, I would probably wake up feeling different, because that was just the nature of teendom, but right now… I had to make the most of what was. I could regret it later.

It's a cruel disease, youth. Being stuck in it, and knowing, but remaining unable to resist the urges.

"Okay," Sir finished sending the text, by which point we were trudging across the carpark, in which there were still a few students flitting around and a pair having a snowball fight. "What was it y' wanted t' say?"

"Uh…" I glanced at his car as we walked past, and he shook his head.

"We c'n walk."

"Oh, okay. Well, first off, I wanted to apologise for bugging you, you must be so sick of me by now." He grunted, but not disheartened, I carried on. "But, I was thinking today, about some stuff, and I know that even though I'm going to regret it in the morning, its important that I say it. If I don't, then I will never feel better, and you are just going to keep being you, and I'm going to get worse, and I dunno why I want to do it today but-"

"Tino?"

"What?"

"Y're rambling." We stopped at the corner of the block, and I was surprised we had walked so far already. The streets were clean and white with snow, the suburban houses around the school lit up with Christmas lights. I could still have seen the school, if I turned around, and the vehicles of leaving students were lined up in the street a far way back as they waited for the cross-light to change, but ahead I could see the local shopping district, and I knew that hidden behind a few more houses, some clothes stores, and a supermarket, the lake lay to the west perhaps ten minutes walk down. We crossed straight ahead though, and I had to hurry to keep up with his long, businesslike strides, his satchel banging his thigh, his large thin hands in his jeans pockets casually. Having just had the words disrespected right out of my mouth, I flapped my jaw indignantly, trying to start over, and finally managed to both catch up with him and spit out what I wanted to say.

"S-Sir, I kind of have a crush on you."

"…" He glanced at me sideways, his eyebrows pulled like a drawstring, and slowed his pace a little. "Really?"

I nodded, eyes wide, trying to look as serious as I could and not waver under the heavy stare he was giving me.

"… I never would have noticed."

"Sir!" A little frustrated at having my confession of adoration brushed aside like that, I half laughed, half whined it, trying to grab his wrist and stop him on his walk. He pulled his hand away, and shook it out.

"Not here, Tino. This is not an appropriate place f'r this conv'rsation. Wait til we get t' the café."

I pouted at him, not feeling anywhere near as emotionally flustered as I probably should have, but a might lot of annoyance. That was an extremely important moment for me! He was supposed to make a big deal about it! How dare he just brush it off like he already knew. Which of course he did. Why was he not… doing anything? Telling me off, for example. Fucking me… for all the good it was doing, I may as well have professed eternal undying love to a tree. In some ways, no reaction was worse than having him slap me, and call me a perverted creep.

"What do you mean this isn't the place?"

"There are people look'ng at us h're."

"There are not."

"Th're are cars."

"Pfft. Cars. Heaven forbid cars should know!"

"Tino, keep y'r voice down! Y' c'n be right stupid sometimes for a smartass, y' know. I could get fired for this."

"A-a...what did you just call me?"

"Save it, save it. Y' c'n get angry at the café!"

"I don't want to get angry at the café! I want to get angry here!" Okay, maybe he did have a point. I could see, from the corner of my eye, students and strangers in the sitting cars glancing sideways at the two men standing on the footpath squabbling, the taller hiding his face with one hand and me with my arms crossed and my legs apart and a terrific scowl.

"Tino, this is embarrassing…"

"I've been in more embarrassing situations, sir!"

"Y're so loud."

"I WANT TO BE LOUD!" A car honked, and I sent the culprit an obscene hand-gesture. sir groaned, and turned away to keep walking. "Oh no, you don't." I seized the back of his shirt and dug my heals into the pavement. The next traffic light changed, and cars ground slowly past, up to the next one, at the next intersection. They were quickly replaced. "You aren't going anywhere until you gratify my fucking confession."

"Tino what d' y' want me t' say?" He wrestled my hand off him with glorious strength and held it (and the second, when I made to claw his face) down in front of the two of us with a single loop of fingers around the wrist. "I've told y' already what I think!"

"Well, you did it in the wrong order. I was supposed to admit it, and then you say what you have to, and then it's all sorted and I can carry on with my life!" I glared at him defiantly. He shook his head.

"Y're insane." He said softly. "Y're just a kid."

"I am not! I am almost an adult! Don't you talk down to me!"

"And don't you talk down to me! Now shut up, behave, and control yourself! You're embarrassing me, and you're embarrassing yourself, and if you don't pull your act together now I won't even bother. Go!" He pointed to the path in front of him, like I was some kind of dog or naughty child.

"But-" Astonished, like he had actually beaten me around the head like I had always suspected he would, I tried to argue.

"No buts! Walk!" Well, fuck. once again I was put in the position in which no-one, not even the bravest man alive, said no to that face. Ever. The way his eyes were burning, and his cheeks were darkening, and once again that clarity in his voice…

I hurried forward, trying not to cry again and quivering a little in fear. He pushed me, giving me strict little nudges if I slowed and growled if I stepped off the invisible line of straightness he was enforcing down the middle of the footpath. Could he even do this? This was so not allowed! I was going to get him fired for this, it was obscene and abusive and oh how I despised him, in that moment. If I didn't know there were witnesses, I would have leapt on him and clawed off his face.

The café we walked to was small, modern but also very quaint. It was called the Orange, and it was one of those high class ones that also sold liquor. The clientele were of the young college student persuasion, and the decoration was art-y and bright colours. The smell of purple-foil java struck me as we entered, and he guided me coldly toward a small table in the corner, beside a stack of magazines and a sofa suite and chessboard. The paintings on the wall weren't paintings at all, so much as canvases someone has spilled paint on then rolled around in.

"Sit," He spoke icily now, yet another tone I had not heard before. If I thought his normal voice was glacial, this one was like some kind of deep space plutonian snow-storm. "What d' y' want t' drink."

"Vodka." I told him flatly. He narrowed his eyes at me, and I considered sticking my tongue out… but then he headed over to the counter, and left me to either flee or sit. Still having something to prove,

and wanting to tell him that I was going to report him fucking damnit, I sat.

But I wasn't happy about it.

…

"Here." He plonked a bottle of Smirnoff Ice in front of me, and I pretended not to be surprised. He himself had some kind of poncey coffee frappe whatever, and a muffin. He must have caught me looking at it longingly, but I turned my nose up when he broke a chunk off and offered it to me. Shrugging, he ate it himself and I reached for the cool neck of my drink.

"Y' watch that, it's alcohol."

"No shit, Sherlock!" I took a mouthful, regretting it when it burned the inside of my mouth, but I swallowed it all anyway and huffed, turning my face away from him and staring instead at the battered pile of vanity fairs on the table beside us. He sniffed.

"Y've never drunk vodka before have y'?"

"I have so!" I lied, tossing my hair importantly, and he rolled his eyes as if to say 'Tino, you are all shit'. This, naturally, didn't help my mood. And I had been in such a good one earlier!

"Right," he dismissed it, and plucked a handful of sugarbags from the mug on the table to mix into his drink. "Now, we are here, we can start over. You tell me what you wanted to say, I play my part nicely, and this whole thing blows over, okay?"

"Huh," I scoffed, ignoring his words and choosing instead to make a jab at his annoying (sexy) speech impediment, because it was the only thing I really had over him. "What do you know, you can speak English properly."

"You know I can Tino. Only when I am really pissed."

Oops.

I swallowed, and had to remind myself he wasn't going to kill me in front of a whole café, before I could speak again.

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh. Now spit it out, I have a son to pick up from hockey practice."

"Your son plays hockey?" I was surprised out of my grump, but one stern look reminded me that that was not what we were here to discuss. Sighing, I took another small sip from my drink. "Fine, fine."

"Hm."

"Sir, I have a crush on you." It was easier and easier to say each time. I didn't feel an increment of shyness announcing it this time, and as before he seemed externally indifferent, taking a sip of his drink, wrinkling his nose, and beginning to empty a good two packets of sugar into it before replying.

"Thank you, Tino, for having the bravery to say this to my face." I nodded stiffly, only partially content. I dunno… but I felt like half of my victory had been stolen by his stubbornness, on the street. "Also, I'm sorry for getting angry at you earlier, sometimes I forget y're just a kid." I was going to contest that, but then I noticed he had slipped back into his stoic, smooth, typical accent, a signal that he was no longer pissed off. Not eager to be dealing with shitty sir again, normal sir was terrifying enough, I left it. After all, my guts were going to wear off soon, and I would be back to my nervous, twitchy self.

"Well, I'm sorry for making a scene." I told him, even though I wasn't.

"Don't lie." He pointed out patting around the table for a spoon to stir his drink and not finding one. There wasn't, so he glanced slyly at the table beside us, where there had been a young lady sitting earlier. She had since gone up to the counter, and was waiting in line for some unknown thing, and had left her coffee and spoon unguarded on the side. My eyebrows flew up when stealthily, his hand darted out and he made use of the spoon, before wiping it on a serviette and setting it back where it had been before.

"Sir?"

"Shhh. She doesn't need t' know." Well, I'm not sure exactly what about that I found so funny. Maybe it was just the situation, or the ridiculousness of the fact it was Mr. Oxenstierna behaving so fugitively, but whatever it was I found myself after about four seconds dissolving into uncontrollable giggles, my hat slipping forward and obscuring my vision, my elbow near knocking my drink from the tabletop. "What?" he asked me, obviously confused, and I just couldn't tell him. I couldn't explain what, if anything, was wrong.

My emotions were like a fucking parrot in a blender. A million colours, all churned together in a repulsive, unappetizing mess of what once was parrot.

I hadn't written for a while. This much was obvious in my analogies.

The thought of a parrot in a blender, as messed up as it was, had me laughing even harder. It wasn't funny, just kind of utterly disgusting, but you know what teenager brains are disgusting so I think it was justified. My laughter dissolved into tears eventually, and when I managed to push up my hat, and saw him looking at me like I had grown a toe on my forehead, I broke again, and I just couldn't stop. I couldn't.

I laughed until everyone in the café was looking at us, until my sides hurt and tears streamed down my cheeks. He was probably mortified (as if I hadn't embarrassed him enough today) but he sat there, waiting patiently for me to calm down.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't.

"Um… Tino?" I gave another small chuckle, but decided that so long as I didn't look at him I would be fine. I left my head on the table and nodded.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Well, I wasn't, really. I shrugged, and peeked over my arm at the patrons, who were returning their attentions to their respective drinks and sending occasional, concerned looks our way. He clicked his tongue, and suddenly, my hat was pulled off, my hair ruffled in its wake.

"Hey!"

"Hey what? I needed a n'w hat." He looked at the flaps and tipped his head to the side. "Th's is as cute as any."

"Yeah, but it's my hat."

"Hmm." He nodded. "Y're right ..." He folded it and placed it under his elbow on the table. "... and y' can have it back when we are finished talking."

"My head is cold."

"What a shame."

"…" I wasn't sure if I should be mad at him, or let it go … Wait a sec! I was still mad at him from earlier! On the street! "Hey, wait, I'm still angry at you!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, oh! You know I could have you fired for what you did to get me here! Pushing and shoving me around."

"Y' could, yes." He didn't seem bothered by this notion. "That is if I don't get fired f'r meeting with a student out of school."

"Who's going to know about that?"

"Oh, just the twenty or so people who saw y' having a tantrum in the street."

"… Right."

"Yes." I took three seconds to feel guilty, before getting angry again.

"Well it was your fault."

"Y'rs f' being impatient, actually. I was h'ping we could have a nice cosy drink t'gether, but that was my mistake, wasn't it?"

"… You're mad at me."

"A little bit, yes." He took a deep breath and nursed the base of his drink. Then girl who had sat beside us, from whom he had loaned the spoon, returned. She had bought a sandwich, one of the ones in the plastic triangle packets, and was making a horrorshow noise trying to open it. "But it's okay. I kn'w it's hard, and I get that y're feeling upset right n'w."

"Man, you don't know the half of it." The faintest ghost of what may almost nearly may have been a smile flattered his lip, but was wicked away again promptly.

"Well, if y' want t' tell me 'the half of it', that's what we are here f'r. Just promise y' won't have anoth'r breakdown or anything. Frankly, it scares me."

I was incredulous, having had no idea he could be so… pretentious.

"Sir, you can be quite an asshole sometimes."

"And y' can be a little smartass who thinks he is centric t' th' universe. N'w, have y' got anything else y' want t' talk about right now?"

"Uh, actually, yeah. The way you talk to me-"

"Tino, lets not argue." He held up his hand to stop me. "Please. I don't want t' argue with y'. I've told y', I like y' ... when y're acting emotionally stable. And I think th're are s'me things we need t' clear up, okay?" I regarded him for a moment, lips knotted, and brushed my hair off my face. He seemed genuine. That is to say, he was not frowning, and his monotone had taken on a gentle lowness I would have found sexy, if I wasn't so worked up.

"Okay." I gave in. "Okay, fine." And he nodded.

"Now are y' going t' finish that vodka, or shall I buy y' a coffee?"

…

"I know, sometimes I act weirdly, or stupidly. And I don't want to because I know that people don't take me seriously when I do, and it's hard enough to get them to take me seriously anyway because look at me. I'm one of those, and it's just so frustrating. It's like my brain ... doesn't want t-"

"One of those what?"

"Hm?" I stopped talking, brows lifting, and brushed my fingers over my lips. "Oh! You know, one of those; small, blonde, innocent looking."

"I will never see y' as innocent again."

I laughed at the flatness of that statement, leaning across the table and aching to just throw myself at him, and fuck him senseless.

"Never judge a book by it's cover, sir."

"Hmm." The corner of his lip quirked, and my stomach jumped in excitement. "I will remember that, in future." I nodded, and nursed the cup of coffee he had gotten me, while he finished off the last of the vodka in the bottle. "Well," he sighed, brushing his knuckles along the neck in a mirror of what I was fantasizing him do to my throat. "I just wanted t' tell y' that I was really flattered, about the whole affair. I'm not young, y' know. I don't know how…"

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Thirty-four."

"Shit, really?" I stared at him in surprise, and he nodded.

"H'w old did y' think I was?"

"I dunno. Twenty?"

"… Tino, I have a twelve year old son." I shrugged, and emptied the dregs from the bottom of my mug.

Sir was surprisingly easy to talk to. Maybe it was his stoic mannerisms, or his insistence (he was very insistent. It surprised me, actually, how much he seemed to care about my metal health), or the way he spared no pity with his 'I'm afraid I can't go out with you' speech and actually told me, quite blatantly, that he wouldn't be going out with me and I should just stop trying. Call me crazy, but I think that just made me want him more.

But unfortunately, I think we both supposed as we lulled into silence and turned attention to the outdoors, it was getting dark. I should really be getting home soon.

"Speaking of m' twelve year old son… I have t' pick him up in half an hour. Did y' want a lift h'me?"

I was tempted to say yes, just to be with him a little longer, but I shook my head, and smiled up at him instead.

"Thanks, but there's a bus right past here takes me straight home."

"Okay." He stood up, and gathered his coat off the back of his chair. "I would wait with y' but…"

"No, no. It's okay." I nodded and glanced up at the clock. "My bus drives in…half an hour. Oh." My face fell. "Okay." A thoughtful look.

"I will buy y' another coffee then, while y' wait." He started to turn but stopped and faced me again. "But only if y' promise me s'mthing."

"Mm?"

"This afternoon never happened. If th' school finds out about it…"

"...You're fired, yeah, I understand." I smiled at him and he nodded back.

"Thank y' Tino, I'm glad we got this sorted out."

"Me too."

…

"Tino, could you sit for a second?"

"Yeah, what is it mum? I'm kind of busy." I had barely stumbled through the door the next afternoon and kicked off my boots when she accosted me, dropping my coat carelessly on the ground and pulling off my beanie. "I need to start some extra credit."

"Extra credit for what?"

"Oh, well, My English teacher has gotten me an allowance on the credits I missed when I had tonsillitis. She says that if I pass this, I might not have to do an exam for the subject at the end of the year, which would be great."

"Oh…" She seemed surprised. "Well that's nice. What about your graphics credits, are you on top of that? Maybe you should talk with Berwald about it? Are you two getting on better now then?"

"Yah." I hadn't mentioned our coffee together, and I wasn't about to. "He talked to me on Monday and this morning I got my last assignment results- wait." I frowned at her and bent down, to scratch Hana behind the ears. "How did you know his first name?"

"Oh you know…" My mother responded, even though I did not. "... but now that you have reminded me, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. Come in, sit down. Please. This may be easier than I thought." A bright smile, and I was instantly suspicious.

"Oh?" I followed her into the kitchen, and sat down in a seat not occupied by the large amount of tupperware she had purchased last weekend at some raving old lady party. I hoped this would be quick and I hoped my anxiety was unfounded. Not only was I horny, it was Friday and I had shit to do. A life to pull back together. Balls to grow… "Well, go on then. Make it fast." She nodded, and sighing happily against the kitchen counter she cast an affectionate look my way.

"Well… remember that guy I've been dating lately? The artist?"

"Yes…"

"He's coming over for dinner tomorrow, to eat with us!" She made a somewhat embarrassing 'squee' noise and I jolted backward like a rabbit in headlights, more than startled, actually, about it.

"Uh… okay. So what, I get to meet him?" I shrugged and carded my hands through my hair. "That's cool."

"Um, no, actually. You've already met him." She looked as though she was giving me a great Christmas gift or something, by telling me this.

"I have?"

"Yup."

"Who…" I thought hard on this actually, trying to remember what stray men mum had brought home lately. The only one that came to mind was that fellow, the old creepy guy who works with her at the office, and if I remembered correctly that only happened because they had to finish a whole account file in twelve hours and hadn't even started. What was his name…?

"Is it… Harold?" I screwed up my face in an effort to recall. "Was that his name? He had a comb over…" Mum looked distinctly disgusted by the idea.

"No… no it is NOT Harold. Think younger… think more… Swedish." The penny dropped with the painful gravity of lead, and my jaw swiftly followed.

"No…" But her excited nod promptly confirmed all of my worst fears.

…

_Okay, heres the next chapter, all ready for posting on Christmas eve! (its 6pm Christmas eve in NZ ^^) im sorry for taking so long about it, but actually I have just finished moving from denmark to new Zealand, and so ive been a bit distracted… apologies. (also, I wasted a lot of time writing two versions of this chapter… in one of which Berwald shoved tino onto the desk and fucked him stupid. But that really screwed up my plot, im so sorry OTL) In anycase, thank you to Nor, who beta'd this particular chapter for me (a different beta to usual) and merry chirstmas, happy new year._

_Glædelig jul. :3_


	5. Note

**~A NOTE TO MY READERS~**

hello, everyone reading and following this fic.

i just... was overcome with how much love this story was getting. honestly, it made my day to see how many people were reading and enjoying this. every review made me smile, and i cant believe... this was an accident! how it became so popular i will never know, it was only supposed to be a one chapter blagh and somehow it turned into a 57reviews-at-chapter-three fic, which is something i never would have dreamed. im sorry i havent been able to reply to every single review, but i read every one over and over and... ahh... thank you. :3

there was one particular review i couldnt believe, that my little dabble in boredom might actually be meaningful or relateable to anyone just... made me feel both flattered and a little scared. maybe im just being a bit over-emotional, (haha, probably... xD) but wow. i love you. all of you.

im going to do my absolute best on this story. its now my pride and joy (doting parent... like berwald, jo?) and i will try my darndest to be swift with updates, and suchlike. if you have any questions about it, or want to message me, or even just chat (im a really friendly person) then feel free to visit my tumblr!

** fanslewfantasy. tumblr. com**

have a good holiday (i would say merry christmas, but for those of you who dont celebrate christmas that wouldnt be so fitting... sorry i almost forgot -.-) , and thank you again.

hej hej~

**FSF 2011**


	6. Chapter 5

_Hello all! Im sorry this chapter took so long to get out. D: I feel like an awful person, for the slowness of it all, but I had a *weee* bit of an accident over the new year and it had me indisposed for a period of time. Im glad to report I am mended now though. Also, it was difficult to actually advance the plot of this chapter, too. I mean, considering how I don't know any thing about how to finish this story, and little about what happens next (im pretty much as in the dark about it as you guys atm,) I worry that I may make mistakes, or do something wrong/inconsistent/badly. I don't cope well under preassure, im afraid… xD_

_But I do my best. _

_ALSO, I realise I forgot a song for the last chapter too! So here, take this one:_

www. youtube. com/ watch? v=WFYjdYz21Fc& feature=related

_and of course this one, for this chapter:_

www. youtube. com/ watch? v=VIp_ JV6oTM

_remove spaces, with love :3 begin._

…

Mum hammered heavily on my door, clearly upset, but nowhere _near_ as upset as me, who after storming upstairs and locking myself in my room, had proceeded to tear up my whole bed and throw all the pillows and blankets at the wall.

"Tino you come out here right now!"

"Absolutely not!" all out of bedding, I hunted frantically around for some other kind of artillery, stinging teary eyes coming to rest on the dogs basket under my window. "No way in burning _hell_! You absolute bitch!"

I had never, ever been angry enough to call my mother that before. Never in my life. Although I had been getting much more agitated with her lately, I thought nothing ever would. Clearly, she never thought that I would either, because she made a loud, indignant sort of huff, and doubled her efforts at hammering. I didn't care.

Hearing my own mother tell me that she was dating the love of my teenaged life had been almost the worst emotional experience imaginable. It wasn't an instant pain, so much as a sudden sick feeling and a horrid, dizzying ache that seemed to grind not just into my heart but my bones and brain as well. I was developing a headache, and still feeling floaty with shock. My tears were unceasing, and my anger at crying was only making them worse. My mind was a whirlwind of nonsense and the sane voice in my head was being drowned out by the raging ones, and the crying ones, and the hatred spouting ones that were also somehow affecting my words and actions. I considered a huge variety of options in that moment. Throwing my lamp at the door, smashing my window with my hockey stick, packing my backpack and leaving… I also considered opening that door and slapping her whore face. But instead I just grabbed the dog basket, threw it (it exploded into bullets of broken wicker structure upon collision, the cushion in it falling limply to the ground) and collapsed onto the empty mattress on my bed.

Oh my life was the _worst_.

Curling over, hugging myself and trying to close the throbbing gap in my chest, I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could and demanded of myself at least a small level of self control. I had to breathe, I had to relax, I had to just… not freak out. Please, self, stop freaking out.

It was harder than it sounded.

Saying that I felt betrayed by this development… was an understatement. I did not just feel betrayed by my mother, or by my own, stupid teenaged stupidity, but also by that men, the subject, who was supposed to be nothing more to me than just a mentor, just someone to teach me how to draw lines.

But oh no… lines were just _too simple_ for the boy who liked to write curly whirly stories. The boy who liked cosy, close cuddles and snugly, emotional moments that really had no room for neatness, or coldness, or efficiency when it came to relationships or _lying to people who you know love you_, and other such cruel heartless things. The boy who should have known, from that serious and distanced 'Tino, I und'rstand b't its inappropriate and has t' stop.' That he hated me, he _hated and despised and was disgusted_ by me, just like life in general. All because I wasn't simple enough. I was too… soft. Too weak.

I wasn't a thirty-two year old woman, who could become his wife and live with him happily ever after in a nice house in a nice street. I wasn't even a _girl_! How had that realisation not occurred to me earlier? It was one of the first things that probably repulsed him about me, and yet because I am so damned used to myself, and my happy go lucky pussy world, I didn't even notice. He was… what did he say? Thirty something? Something like that. I was a stupid kid. A stupid, emotional kid, who had been so disgustingly besotted I couldn't see far enough up my own ass to realise how much of an embarrassment I was to myself, and to him.

And my MOTHER. Who _knew_ there was something there (though to be fair, she thought I hated him), and yet still pursued the relationship. How dare she? How actually dare she? I was so indignant about that I couldn't even describe it. Just… oh my god.

The complex, nauseating feelings that I processed that evening, long after my mother had given up on her door-pounding in favour of going and watching TV or something, were so numerous, so un-nameable, that by the end of it all, after not even moving for the five hours since I had arrived home, I found myself falling into a deep, black void of dreamless sleep. And I woke late the next morning feeling like a part of me had died, and bittered inside.

…

I showered, brushed my hair and teeth, and got dressed, my joints feeling oddly mechanic and a little well oiled. Or maybe I was just a little more body conscious today. I couldn't tell. I had never looked so rested, but then, I think that calm peacefulness would have been much more attractive on me if I had been smiling, rather than scowling, and I think that over all I would have looked a lot better if I had been still in bed, adjusting to this new scabby cut in my emotional flesh.

I wasn't happy. Nope nope nope, I wasn't happy. But despite the empty rattly gap where my heart should have been, I had dragged myself up and sorted myself out. At least enough to look presentable when I went downstairs. The smell of cooking beef greeted me, and my tummy grumbled in hunger, but I ignored it.

"Morning." I grunted, mooching into the kitchen and yanking the fridge door open. The drawing of her fluttered prettily amongst magnets and photos, and I glared at it evilly as I grabbed the milk carton and drunk straight from, much to Mum's displeasure.

"Tino! That's disgusting! Stop it!" she yanked the milk away and I coughed, a flood of it pouring down my cheek and splattering on the floor. "I'm trying to cook and you prance in here at nine-thirty like the king of the bloody castle! We need to have a serious discussion young man, you and I, and-"

"There is nothing to talk about." I snapped at her, yanking the milk carton back and slamming the fridge door shut. "Now if you don't mind, I'm taking the dog for a walk."

"Not with that milk you aren't! Tino! Tino you come back here right no-"

"Hey shut up!" I turned back and opened my hands at her in an invitation to come at me. "I can take care of myself for gods sake! I will be back later."

And with that, I left. My mother standing loose jawed in the kitchen behind me.

…

Sir had arrived at around six, looking dapper and aloof in trousers and a plain white shirt. He paid no more attention to me (sprawled on the sofa in track pants, eating liquorice straps from the box on the table and flicking through a ezi-buy Christmas catalogue) than usual, giving a polite 'hello Tino' before craning his neck around to spot my mother still clattering in the kitchen.

"Is y'r mum r'dy?"

"I don't know." I snapped, tearing a chunk of liquorice off a little overly vicious and chewing savagely. "You ask her."

He surveyed me for a moment, unreadable and a little more than intimidating, and I tipped my chin in an aggressive and mostly subconscious gesture. I didn't miss that he was holding a small handful of flowers.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking me off guard. "Y're in a bad mood."

I wondered briefly what he was thinking, what he _had been thinking_, when he took me to that café and listened to me spill my guts to him, and his strict, steady expression the whole time through. What thoughts had been behind those eyes. Had he pitied me, was he mocking me? The thought that he may have just done this to play with my heart, like some kid with a doll, occurred to me. I had a young cousin once, who idolised her Barbie dolls. But one day, she lost it. She sheared their hair off, and drew crude genitalia on them to make them 'funny', something amusing, and even more exciting to play with. Was he like that? Destroying me, because it made me all the more fun to fuck up?

I had always known there was something wrong with that cousin.

"Pfft." I scoffed and looked away. "Whatever."

But yeah, I was in a bad mood. I was in one of the worst moods I remember ever being in. The walk earlier hadn't helped. It was strange, but the hurting emptiness from earlier had slowly, almost unnoticeably transformed into a silent, bubbling fury that glogged and churned under the surface of my skin. I kind of wanted to bash his jaw. This anger… the only thing I could really compare it to was having a goal stolen from me in hockey. Maybe I was just one of those wild, moodswinging teenagers, but so what? Right then I was sure what I felt, and I knew it was stupid, but hey I was indignant as all fuck. Mad at not just him and her but myself, and everything else around me too for broad, meaningless reasons I couldn't specify. I wished I had laser vision. That may have calmed me down a little, I think. Calmed me down, and reduced everything in a mile radius to charred dust…

My Mum was obviously picking up the negative vibes from the kitchen, because frowning she ducked her head around the kitchen door, face pinkened in excitement, and eeped when she saw him standing there, waiting. The clatter of organization, I suspected she was whipping off her apron and putting the stew on to simmer a bit, before she re-emerged with a fake smile painted all over her face.

"Berwald… hi."

He grunted, and still watching me a little anxiously thrust the flowers at her. Upside down, might I add.

"D' y' need some help cooking?"

"Oh no no no!" flustered Mum took the blooms and tried to smooth her flyaway hair, "You're a guest. Sit down and… Tino?" she asked me a little testily, unsure if I was going to snap at her or do like she said, as a dutiful son. "Would you move or help make our guest comfortable?"

I went with a half-way option, banging my feet down and clattering as much as I could in an effort to collect my empty drinking glasses and sort the state of the sofa. The remote was between the two cushions, I grabbed it and slammed it down on the table, before stomping off, glaring over my shoulder on the way to the stairs and hoping she understood, by my look, just how much I despised her.

"Dish me up a separate lot. I don't want to eat with you."

"Ti-"

"Tino, y' c'n eat with us. I'm telling y'." he cut her off calmly, as if having predicted her retort and my reaction, and I was loose jawed shocked. The way he said it obviously surprised her too, but he didn't seem bothered. "It will be cosy."

"I-it will be… _cosy_?" sneering, not believing it in the least I repeated, and he nodded stiffly. "Who do you think you are? My father?"

"No, but-"

"Ber, it's okay."

Oh god did she just call him _Ber_?

He sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose.

"I w'ld really appr'ciate it if Tino c'uld eat with us."

Well, that was enough for my mother, who took on her 'eat at the table with us or you will be grounded for two months' expression, and placed her hands on her hips.

"Right, Tino, you can eat with us. And change those clothes."

"What? What's wrong with my clothes?" talk about making me the victim of her bitchery. "They are fine!"

"They most certainly are not."

I looked at my trackies and hockey jumper as if I had all my life considered them the height of swag, and only just discovered now otherwise. Though I knew well and good that they were dowdy and ugly, I thought that if I could keep them on I could salvage at least _some_ dignity. I hoped.

"Tino, you change your clothes or I will not pay your hockey fees this season."

"…"

Words cannot express my hatred for my life in that moment. Furious, almost exploding in rage, I spun on my heal (turning my back to that pig and his fancy ass scarf) and stormed up the stairs, trying to break as much as I could as I passed. It wasn't until I reached my room that I slumped against the door and almost, _almost_ broke down. But I didn't.

Instead, I grabbed the first pair of white cargo shorts and turtleneck jumper I could find (A cheerful peach one that didn't match my mood at all) and tugged them on. I tugged a comb through my hair and grabbed a nice beanie from the knob on the post of my bed to chuck on my frizzing hair. Stupid hair… it always frizzed, if I didn't leave the conditioner in it after I showered.

And then I went back down. To endure an eternal dinner of angst and 'why was I born'.

…

"Come on Ber, draw me!"

"I've already drawn y'." he told my mother kindly, but flatly, setting his fork on his perfectly clean plate and reaching for his napkin. "Why don't y' draw me?"

"Oh, I can't draw silly!" my mother simpered, pushing her hair over her shoulder. She had finished her meal a bit back, and been attempting to push a pen and napkin into his hand ever since. "You do it."

"I don't-"

"Mum he doesn't want to!" I slammed my fork down on my still half full plate, accidently decapitating a small bloom of overcooked cauliflower and flinging it across the room, for the dog to eat. This broke the half hour long silent streak I had been running, since arriving back down stairs, and I must say it felt _fucking good_. Like popping that one pimple, that had been on your chin and leering at you for a good hour in the reflection on the classroom window. I thought, initially, that if I just sat down and shut up I could get it done with, he would go home, and then I could scream at my Mum some more. But life was never that easy. As soon as their patient conversation about boring adult shit (pretty agitating) became her begging for another drawing and shameless flirting (absolutely infuriating) I began to feel double homicidal. No exaggeration! I know I can be a bit of a drama queen some times, but seriously. That is not an exaggeration. Honest.

My mother looked at me with an expression comparable to a bloated fish. That also, is not an exaggeration.

"Tino, I wasn't asking you."

"Well anyone with a brain can see-"

"y' shouldn't talk t' y'r mother like th't Tino." Sir leant forward carelessly and plucked a boiled potato from the pot with his bare fingers. "s'not respectful."

"You're not respectful!"

Sometimes I said things without thinking.

Much to my surprise, after studying me for a breathtaking moment over the rim of his glasses, he shrugged, placing the entire potato into his mouth and wiping his fingertips on his napkin.

He swallowed.

"Fine." He mumbled. "May I h've th' paper?"

Excited, mum handed it over, and the pen too, and leaned forward to watch. I scoffed and folded my arms, looking out the window and forcing myself not to cry.

Because he was _mine_. And I just… I still wanted him so bad. Even if he was a jerk.

Why was it always the jerks that were so damn gorgeous?

"Huh?" my Mum made a surprised noise and I sighed, sinking in my chair a little. I could hear sirs pen scratching the paper mum had torn from some notepad or the other, and it certainly sounded like he knew what he was doing.

"Gimme a sec." he grunted, pausing his scribbling. From the corner of my eye I could see him adjust his glasses. And then he resumed.

After about a minute of this, in which my mind had wandered back to the day in his office, and the fucking that might have been if I had been my _own bitch mother_, a loud 'ohh!' of comprehension broke the silence, and the pen ceasing scratching completely, convinced me to at least look a little, to see what was going on.

"Th're." he rustled the paper, folding it, and setting it on the table. "done."

Mum was wearing quite a delighted expression, looking between him and the folded piece of paper in awe. She then flicked her eyes at me, and nodded at the paper. I looked to him, sitting there and glaring at me in his usual fashion, and then at the paper, and then at him again. I could figure, that Mum wanted me to look at it, but I hesitated anyway. His face didn't change a wink.

So suspiciously, bitterly, I edged my hand toward the drawing-slash-whatever-it-was cast between emptied pots and dishes. There was cheese sauce, spattered on the table cloth beneath it, small spots that were revealed when I lifted the crisply folded note and drew it toward me, hoping that he was feeling the searing hatred I was forcing into my glare.

The drawing was me.

I saw it as soon as I unfolded the top half, my hat instantly recognisable. He had drawn with the same perfect discipline and accuracy as the one on our fridge, and I was struck by a sense of the surreal when I realised that he had created this. This flawless replica of my profile, gazing achingly off the page and possibly into space, the soft downward turn of my lips attractive, but unflattering. It had come from his hands, in much the same way he had drawn a thousand ruled lines before. Every detail was there, rich and realistic and mournful, but described by the most clean eloquent lines. I felt suddenly naked, being drawn like this without my knowledge, and my face coloured in embarrassment.

"Whatever." I told them both, heart stung, and crumpled the drawing in my fist. My mum sniffed sharply, warningly, her nostrils flaring and her smile sliding right off the side of her face. "He can draw. Great job."

"Tino!"

"Well I already knew he could draw! He's my _graphics_ teacher." I folded my arms and glared at him, sitting fairly calmly at the other end of the table with his hair in need of a cut, and flopping on his brow. "What do you think I am, stupid?"

Mums expression promised a huge telling off later. He sighed and fiddled with a small lick of sideburn.

"Y' c'n call me Berwald when w're not at school."

My stomach twisted and I ground my teeth.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"I want y' t' call me Berwald."

"Hm." I grunted, dropping the scrunched picture surreptitiously into my lap. I tried to look indifferent, but struggled. My mum sniffed, and stood.

"Dessert?" she lifted the plates curtly, giving me an evil glare when she passed, and left he and I alone for a dangerous moment. Time enough for me to look to him behind her back, and make a rude gesture with my hand. He seemed shocked, but took it into his stride, reaching for the half drunken glass of wine by his set and sipping it lightly.

"Manners Tino."

"_Manners Tino_," I mocked him in a whisper, and his eye twitched ever so faintly.

"I understand that you are angry…"

"Angry? Mister Oxenstierna I am _pissed_!" even though I could hear my mother in the kitchen, clattering around the cheesecake she had made for the occasion, I craned my neck around and leaned closer, in case she over heard. "I am worse than pissed. I can't _believe _you! You thought this was funny, did you? Thought you would pity me some?"

"No, Tino-"

"You are a cruel man, Berwald Oxenstierna. I may be a stupid kid, but I have _feelings_. I have a _life_." the sour, cold words that had been leaving a nasty aftertaste at the back of my tongue spilled, without my meaning too. Had I even acknowledged these feelings yet, or had I just let them sit there? Too busy wallowing in the betrayal. I could barely dissect anything from the mess of emotion I was feeling, I just…

I don't feel that I could express this right.

It's hard to explain, I had been struggling through it since he had read my story, and now, I just didn't think I had words left anymore. How stupid is that? A writer, not being able to express how I felt, or what I was going on in the maelstrom of my mind. But the thing is, by this point, things like that didn't seem important. All that mattered was I was hurting. Really hurting. And I just said things, strange things, inexplicable and unprovoked things I wasn't sure I believed, or knew existed within me.

It didn't matter.

I stood up, secreting his drawing of me into my fist again.

"Sir, this hurting has gone on for a long time. It's going to keep going, too. But it's going to be a lot less inconvenient if you just forget it. I quit. Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't even think of me. Don't expect me to show up to your class, and good luck with my mother. You will need it. I'm going to bed."

And still clutching the balled paper, I eased my way up the stairs, dog skittering at my heals.

…

"Hate it…" under my covers, I lit my activities with my cellphone, because mum insisted I slept with my door half open when she was home and so I couldn't turn on my lights. "I hate it…"

Frustrated, I scratched out the ugly drawing and flipped over a new page. Beside me, his crumpled picture lay flat, and no matter how many times I tried, I could not replicate the lines. I could not get the measurements, the emotion. How had he done it? Captured me so perfectly? It was as if, in this drawing, he had seen straight through anything that may have ever been outside me, and into my soul. It was worse than being naked, it was like having every layer peeled right off me. Like he could see through skin, flesh, and muscle. Make out my tarsals, carpals, vertebrae, every rib. It was as if, considering he could draw this… he didn't even need to have read my stupid writing to know me. He already knew all there was to know. And there it was, on fucking _paper_ plain as day.

For a mute, he sure did have the wisdom of a god.

Bastard.

Angry at my next attempt, I scribbled it out and groaned, collapsing face first into the pad of paper and smooshing my nose sideways.

God I would give anything to feel him draw me again.

Not likely, though, if he listened to what I asked of him before.

At the time, I suppose it wasn't anything special, but now the _thought_ of him drawing me like that was so… raw, so utterly sexy and humiliating I couldn't believe it. I didn't understand it. Maybe it was just the fact he was now behind a wall of glass I myself had erected, far away from him and everything he could have been to me, it seemed much more intimate, forbidden, and precious. This time, I sort of wanted to realise. To feel him actually do it, caress the lines of my face with his pencil and strip me bare under my own gaze. God how sexy would that be…

I whined, making wishes. If I had such talent, I wouldn't need to write. I could create my worlds in pencil, like he could so easily. I would tell a million stories, and draw him over and over and over again. I wouldn't need clumsy words, if I could draw. If I could be free.

But at least, a thought flitted through my mind as I was dragged into sleep, now I knew. He wasn't all the straight lines and angles I had though. Maybe, on the inside, he was a little bit like me.

…

I dreamt, aptly enough, of windows.

Of being a mannequin, in a window, on display and bare. The feeling of cold glass against my chest, the soft heat from my hand fogging the glass, my breath obscuring him watching me, seeing me, prickling the hair on the nape of my neck. His fingers wrote dream words in the dew, the blue of his eyes spreading, embracing me, consuming every square inch of my flawless body, and I pressed against the flat separation between us, wishing I could slip through but wanting to stay behind, because from here, I couldn't feel his body heat, and I couldn't hear his voice. I could live in the land of fantasy, and dreams, and his imaginary touches melting over my skin.

…

Even though I knew it would be no good, and no use, I made my way to the student centre at break the next day, intending to pose an inquiry about shifting graphics class again. The woman behind the desk was occupied, arguing with some kind of exchange student, so I sat down and took a yearbook off the table to read, impatient.

I put it back down again when I noticed that it was the one with my Graphics article in it.

The office was small, and plain, with a single clicking clock marking the painful progression of seconds from nine till three every day. Sub par student artwork decorated the walls. It looked even crappier than usual, as compared to his drawings. I didn't like to look at them, so I dropped my eyes and leant forward, staring at the ground.

A soft crisp voice startled me.

"You must be Tino?"

"Huh?"

"Tino." The woman who spoke at me, peering from her office door behind the desk, was young, but her eyes were creased with smile lines. She wore too much mascara, and a strange shade lipstick, but she looked nice.

"Yes that's me."

"Oh good, I have your transfer sheets here." A kind smile, she beckoned me forward. "Mister Oxenstierna filled them all out and everything for you. He said you would be coming to fetch them today."

"Oh." my heart both sunk, and fluttered, like a fish flung out of water I suppose; in pain, but also excited to be soaring. "Yeah, okay."

"Come through, and we will file them and also choose you a new slot."

"Alright." I stood up and pulled my backpack onto my shoulder. "So long as I don't get sewing."

…

I got sewing.

The class however, was on that day feildtripping at some textiles factory or another, and so that left my next period of free until tomorrow. Grumbling, but glad that I had no longer graphics, I decided to make way to the library, and while away an hour and bit.

The library wasn't a place I frequented. It was small, cosy, but smelt oddly of wet carpet all the time, even in the summer. It was warm though, and I could always find something to occupy my time with hiding in the shelves. Em was there, which didn't surprise me. Three years my senior and lilting through shelves of books with a trolley, he was a friend of mine once, the younger brother of a neighbour. We used to play together, in the summer, but when he left classes we just sort of grew apart, though he stayed around to work in the library.

"Oh, Tino."

"Hey Em." I held up my arms for a hug like old times and he gave me a small smile, bending down to embrace me briefly back. He was so tall, built like a willow, with delicate features and small glasses. His hair was pale, always had been, and when I was younger I may have been guilty of harbouring a small crush on both he and his older, much colder and more stand-offish brother respectively. Em was really clever, if I remember correctly. I wondered briefly why he wasted time here, rather than go to study. His family was well off, it wasn't like he couldn't afford it.

"How are you master Tino?"

"I'm alright." I lied, stepping back and giving him a mild smile. "You?"

"Fine fine." He had a soft voice, like he wasn't all there, but oh he was. I had learnt not to let that fool me. "You seem upset though."

Because if I let that fool me, that would happen. I sighed, and shrugged.

"Stupid teenage thing."

"Oh." he didn't plead me to elaborate on that. "Well, you haven't come to see me for a while."

"Yeah I know. You haven't invited me to movies or anything at yours either."

"Well, yeah, but I moved ages ago. Didn't you know that?" he adjusted his glasses and reached for a new book to shelf. "I moved into a flat in the city."

"…" I gaped at him, loose jawed, and then remembered myself. "asshole!" my hand slapped his shoulder and he jumped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry! I thought I did." He nudged the trolley back with his hip, and then found the shelf in question, to slot the book on. "I moved in with Leon, anyway. You remember him?"

"That angry Asian boy."

His eyes rolled dramatically. "Yes Tino. The angry Asian boy."

Em never really had a sense of humour.

Still slighted, I edged past him, and spied a table in the corner of the library that might bee a nice place to sit. "Well anyway," I told him, "what for?"

He shrugged. "Dunno."

That was so typically Em. He did so know. He just didn't feel like explaining himself to me.

Sometimes he could be really pretentious.

Used to his distant, haughty ways, I let it go, pointing to the table in an invitation for him to sit with me. He shrugged.

"Let me take the trolley back. I will have my break. Care for a coffee?"

"No thanks."

When we were younger, I think maybe I was 14, the two of us would drink so many cups of coffee on a Saturday evening that we didn't sleep until Sunday. I had since grown out of it, but he was always a java head and always would be. I suppose it comes, with being a bit of a ponce. Well, no, not really. Em wasn't a ponce. He was just… peculiar. Not like me. Or well… actually, now I think of it, he was actually like everyone else in this place. It was me who was different. As always. The awkward stupid one, with no confidence or dignity or anything, beyond hormones. Ugh. Fuck me.

"Cake?"

"Not hungry." With that, I moved away, and threw my stuff down on the table.

I was beginning to remember why I had stopped talking to Em so often.

It wasn't that I was anti-social, I was just… shy? Yeah, I was shy. Which was stupid, considering how fiery and obnoxious I was. Maybe I had just lost track of what I was, like I had lost track of my emotions. I didn't care anymore. I was simply relieved to be out of graphics and on free period.

Em reappeared a few minutes later, steaming cup of joe in hand, and a muffin too, in a small plastic baggie. It wasn't a good muffin either, it looked rather like one of those ghastly pear and bran ones. Typical.

I slipped my hand into my pocket, pleasantly surprised to note that there was a rumpled bag of liquorice inside, with maybe a piece or two as well. They had been through the wash, but I wasn't really bothered. I slipped one into my mouth anyway, and thought longingly of that wonderful something it was he gave me. The Swedish-slash-Finnish stuff. Alas, I just had to make do with slightly detergenty black knight straps.

"So," Em began, taking his seat and pulling out his muffin. "What's bothering you?"

I shrugged, and slumped forward on the table. "I told you, it's dumb."

"Is Ivan bothering you again? He's not actually that bad you know."

I gave him a look that expressed precisely how I felt about that conjecture, but he just broke off a chunk of muffin, indifferent.

"It is _not_ Ivan."

"Girl trouble?"

"Man trouble." I muttered, and I must say, his reaction was comparable to Hana, upon hearing the word 'walk'. His ears seemed to prick, he sat up straighter…

"Man trouble?"

A indistinguishable reply prompted him to lean closer, brow cocked curiously.

"Tino, you should have said. I don't know much, but I know about men."

"Pfft." I snorted before I could help myself. "Leon doesn't count."

He seemed a bit put out.

"… If you don't want my advice Tino-"

"No! Wait, I…" I thought for a moment. "I do want your help? Wait." It was difficult to tell. Did I want to involve someone new, who wasn't really all that close, or not? He did have a male partner… even if that partner was a bit peculiar.

"Yes." I decided. "Yes I do."

He smiled, self satisfied, and I tsked.

"But don't let that get to your head."

"I won't, I won't." He tucked his hair behind his ear and set his glasses off, onto the table. "But come on. Tell me. Tell Emil all about it."

"you're like a grandmother." I informed him, but then I relented. "Okay though, fine. See there's this guy. This man, I suppose, that I really, _really_ like. Except he's waaaaay older and I shouldn't like him."

He nodded, and sipped his coffee, eyes fixed on the shelf above my head and glazed with reflection.

"Yes…"

"And he knows I like him. There was this… unpleasantness. And it just dragged on and on forever and there was a huge mess of it. Things got really screwed up."

"Sounds pretty average for a teenager."

"And he's dating my mum."

I think that surprised him, because he stopped nursing his drink and pulled his widened eyes to me.

"Wait, he's THAT old?"

I nodded, humiliated and relieved to be sharing the story for the first time.

"He's my- _was_ my teacher."

"… He's not now?"

"I dropped his class."

"So… do I get a hint as to which class?"

I shook my head sternly, and he sighed.

"Tino, you can't fuck teachers."

"… I know that!"

For a smart guy, he sure was dumb.

"But you can fuck your mother's boyfriend." He smiled a small, private smile. "Or your brother's boyfriend. … or your brother."

"… You sick whore!"

"Kidding, kidding. I was just joking."

Okay, maybe he did have a sense of humour. Though it was grim and a bit cold.

"But no, I kid. I think, of you like him that much, go for it. Just… do it. Persistence is a great trick." a _genuine_ smile flattered him for a moment, and I remembered his own lover, Leon. The boy had worked hard, to catch Em's attention, and even harder to gain his affections. "All you need is to find the thing that makes them… feel good."

"… His cock?"

"… No." he pressed his lips together, "Tino you are so sixteen it's not funny. Call it… his emotional switch?" he frowned, as if he wasn't exactly sure that was the word.

"If you mean Mr. Oxenstierna, that switch would be his son."

He smiled knowingly, over his mug, and gaping I stared at him, horrified.

"Am I really that transparent?"

"Mm." he nodded. "But take my word for it. Peter. You play on that and you are in." he stood up gracefully and checked his watch. "But my break's over now. I will talk with you later, okay?"

I could only stare at him. And it was only once he had gone I questioned how he had even known this.

…

Still puzzling over my sewing-time interaction, I made my way to my locker at break, to prepare for English, up next. I was always a little on the edge, fearful that I might walk into him in the school grounds, but no misfortunes occurred and I arrived safe and sound and free of unwelcome meetings, so that was alright then.

I entered my locker combo, barely remembering it because it wasn't altogether often I used my locker anymore, and pulled my bag around so as to begin unloading all off my old graphics stuff and lock it inside that metal box forever and ever amen. My English book was at the back, and I found it eventuially, poping it in amoung other things, and stepping back to slam my locker shut again.

I wouldn't usually have noticed it, but the colour begged my attention. An envelope, pale yellow and neat, protruding from the bottom corner, beneath my pile of dumped graphics work.

I swallowed, knowing without the faintest shadow of a doubt who this envelope had come from, and feeling a spike of both fear, excitement, and fury that it was even there. How dare he. How actually dare he. After I had specifically _told _ him to leave me alone!

Pissed off, I pulled the letter form my locker and stuffed it into my pocket, crashing the metal door behind a lot more forcibly than usual, and attracting a startled look from a passing art teacher.

"What?" I demanded of her, and she looked away promptly, tottering back down the way. Stupid bitch.

Gritting my teeth, telling myself over and over in my mind to calm down, I braced myself to step back out in the cold. English was on the other side of the school, and I worried my scarf wouldn't hold up that long. Hopefully there would be no 'interactions' on the way there either.

We would see.

…

_Tada! Next chapter up in a short period, I hope. Soon I will also be posting a masterlist of extras and links pertaining to this story. Keep an eye out for those, if you are interested. _


	7. Chapter 6

**Oh hey look at me getting shit done and shit. I cant believe its been a whole month since I updated this last. O_o**

**I don't own hetalia, sorry for the wait. Real life is being a dickhead. I got my first uni assignment today and its fucking huge. Hinduism and Buddhism. X3 *excited* **

**Please remember, im making this up as I go… theres a lot of inconsistancies and I worry that its not very good. I don't even have a finish yet. :/ bear with me.**

**And while im thinking on it, how many of my readers are From New Zealand? How many if any? Kia Ora to y'all. ^^**

**Enjoy.**

www. youtube. com/ watch?v= SNmRNLZqOUI& feature=relmfu

…

I threw the letter into my bedside table, and got on with my life.

He, considerately enough, made himself scarce. Or scarse-ish, and by the time anything new occurred on the front, I had almost returned to normal speaking with my mother, and completed sewing a nice satchel to… satch things with, I suppose. Day by day it got easier, which seemed ridiculous, alright, but actually it seemed to be working. Sure, it was hard at first, but then it became a habit and I grew stronger. Like my heart was becoming galvanised, tougher, and the wound began to heal. Funny how fast those rose tinted glasses fall into place. Or at least, it's funny how fast a person can force them on, with the right amount of resolve. Some part of me was still wavering, still weak and bruised, but it was so small and naïve in the shadow of that part of me exhausted with the affair that it didn't seem to matter, except for those stabbing, lonely moments in between consciousness and sleep.

But then came the unfortunate Friday I wandered into my house, and there was someone extraordinary sitting on my sofa.

The back of his head was a grubby blonde, a laptop that looked suspiciously like my own open in his lap. He had the remote clutched in his hot little hand.

I hesitated, pushing Hana down when she leapt forward, setting my brand new all very snazzy satchel by the door and clearing my throat.

"Erm… hello?"

The stranger cast a glance over his shoulder, and waved at me.

"Hi."

He returned his attention to what I now recognised _was_ my laptop.

He was only young, short, wearing a transformers t-shirt over black jeans. His eyes were blue, his brows prominent, and he played angry birds with the enthusiastic aggression only a child on sugar seemed to possess. With my eyes fixed on him, highly apprehensive, I edged into the kitchen, where my mother was making spaghetti-like-substance.

"Erm… mum?"

"Hello Tino." She spoke icily, having yet to forgive me for my 'behaviour' a few weeks back, which was dead rude, I reckon, considering I had managed to look past her faux pas. I ignored it though and leaned against the edge of the kitchen table, fixing my most quizzical expression on my face.

"Um… not meaning to be accusatory or anything but who is that, and why is he on my laptop?" I made sure to let at least a _tiny_ increment of accusatory into my tone. Mum sent me a filthy look, and set down her sauce-spoon.

"That would be Berwald's son. I said I would babysit him this evening because he has to go out of town tonight."

"… Berwald as in, my graphics teacher?"

"No, Berwald as in the bag check lady at Netto. Of course Berwald your teacher!" she dropped the spoon into the sink angrily, and I think briefly that she must be on her period or something. "Why are you suddenly in such a good mood, anyway? How come you couldn't have been like this on the night of the dinner, Hm?"

"Like what?" I asked her, bruised. She waved her hand and scowled.

"So… chipper." A dramatic sigh and she went back to cooking. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. Just… be nice to him, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, okay, uh huh. Just… why is he using my computer?"

"Well I had to give him something to keep him occupied, didn't I? Your computer was open on your desk so I just loaned it."

"Mum!" I was a little bit insulted, what with her total disregard for my privacy and lack of property related respect. "It's my laptop, not something you can just… give away! And also, are you still going out with that bastard?" disgusted, I yanked open the fridge and dug out a tub of Greek yoghurt. I was surprised how easy it was for me to just… say that. Maybe it was true, what they said about traits of teenage hearts. They were flighty and dismissive…

Or maybe not, I thought briefly when I saw that mum had stuck his drawing of me on the white refrigerator door. Where had she gotten that from? I had it thrown in my bin last time I checked. Was she going through my garbage? And then I remembered she had probably found it when she got my laptop from my room. Fucking hell.

I pulled it down and screwed it up again, jamming it into my pocket. Mum missed it, paying attention to her cooking alone, and I sighed, rubbing my temples where an odd ache was beginning to assemble.

"Yes I am still dating him, and leave him alone. He's a nice man. Just because you have some issue with him. Be nice to peter too!"

I held up my hands defensively, fingers curled around the pottle of yoghurt I still held.

"I have nothing against the kid!" truly, I didn't. "God woman! Leave me be."

I peeled the plastic lid off my yoghurt, grabbed a handful of grapes from the bowl on the table, and left with my nose in the air. Seriously!

Peter looked up at me when I came through the lounge, and I tried not to notice that the blue of his eyes was almost identical to that of his fathers. I gave him a weak smile and nodded to my computer.

"Watch out with the keyboard, sometimes the 'y' key doesn't work."

Probably because there were crumbs in it or something, though equally as likely because my laptop was old and shitty.

"Oh-kay, I-" his thick brows pulled and I hesitated on my approach of the stairs, giving him time to gather his thoughts. "I know you."

"… You do?"

I was surprised to hear it. I had seen this boy a million times in my imagination, faceless and admittedly more like his father than he actually appeared, but I certainly didn't know him.

"Yeah. But… I dunno where though." He looked at me for a puzzled moment longer, enough time for a feeling of discomfort to squirm over the nape of my neck, before going back to his game.

I decided I didn't like Mister Oxenstierna's son.

…

Naturally, I was perturbed by the occurrence, but I want about to let it shake me right off. For once, things were looking alright. For once, I could pretend that the whole ugly occurrence didn't even happen (well at least I could in the daylight) and frankly, letting the sudden appearance of the illustrious Peter change that would have been stupid.

I was Tino. Hockey player, good guy. And I had ass to haul. I had hoped that give another month, I would be back to normal. My old self. And that meant starting where all bad things had began.

The blue folder on the top of my bookcase, with all my stories in it.

I had been staring at it every night for the gone week, thinking I really needed to get around to it, but unable to actually find the courage. I wasn't altogether sure, if tonight was the night I had intended to do the thing. It was only seeing Peter, and sitting at my desk for a while watching the snow glitter coyly on my windowsill in thought, that had prompted me. Maybe the kid had been a sign. It was time to stop. A time to finish it now. I couldn't exactly place the exact motivation behind the feeling, it was one of those sly, irrational, instinctual feelings that folks have some times, and I had nothing to loose.

Feeling a headache coming on, rubbing my temple testily, I stood up and approached the shelf, running my hand along the flat top, feeling the rounded plastic corner and plucking it, pulling it over the edge into my hands.

The folder wasn't heavy, but it weighed a lot on my mind.

Clicking my tongue, bouncing the folder in my hands, I wandered back to my bed and collapsed on the edge. The sun was setting already, and soon it would be dark, so I flicked on my lamp as I made myself comfortable on the bed.

The first one, my first story, was totally sir unrelated. I flicked past it, and the next two, finding small amusements in the childish snatches of phrase and type that caught my eye as I did so. Clumsy words, and silly sayings.

I cringed when I found my first sex-story ever, tucked behind a respectable amount of bad fantasy and action novellas I never got past the first chapter of.

It was half a page long and shitty as hell. But it wasn't about sir. Those were even further back, when I was writing with decent proficiency and ease.

Rather than waste time ruffling pages, I flipped straight there.

There were four, in total. Would have been five, if I hadn't handed that one copy into him, and subsequently binned it in embarrassment. It felt jinx, to print it off again.

The first one was relatively tame, and disgustingly romantic. It was like st valentines wet dream, and put me in mind of a lovesick thirteen year old pouring her soul onto myspace. Candles, dinner, and fade to black lovemaking in front of the fire.

God he didn't even have to _read_ this shit and I was so embarrassed I could have cried about it.

The next one, that which I had completed after the unfortunate report incident, was possibly the filthiest thing any human has ever conceived, and would be better not to have been mentioned.

Third was probably my favourite, a lot like that fateful one, except for some reason I had picked us up and dumped us in the middle of some romantic beach somewhere or another, which in retrospect probably would have resulted in a lot of sand in uncomfortable places.

I didn't even bother to read the fourth.

With quite a lot of willpower, and contrarily enough trying not to think about forcing it too hard, I opened the silver maws of the clips, and slipped the papers out all too easily. Upsetting, if I was going to emotional about it, liberating and monumental, if I was going to be dramatic.

Oh who was I kidding, I wouldn't be me if I wasn't an overdramatic ass. I couldn't help my hand shaking about it. It felt like a big thing, you know? like even if he was a _stupid, jerky, dickface_, he was still the most sexy thing ever, the first guy I had actually liked enough to cry over, and well… I was attached.

Dumbly, pointlessly attached.

What was wrong with me? Did I like pain?

I groaned and slipped the papers back onto their clips, shutting the folder and bringing it up lamely to tap my forehead. I would have whacked myself with it, but that probably would have attracted some kind of suspicious parental attention. Mum had ears like sonar dishes, sometimes.

A frantic scrabbling at the door caught my attention, and feeling relief flood my stomach when I realised it was a distraction, from the twisted alley my mind was about to wander down.

"Hana." I called to her, placing my folder aside and shuffling across my bed and through the scattered odds and ends on my floor to open the door. "hello Hana! Hello hello!" I knelt, so she could lick her doggy kisses all over my face with her funny pink tongue.

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

…

The illustrious Peter (I was going to call him that from now on) was surprisingly enough still at my house when I mooched down stairs the next morning in my boxer shorts, grabbed the carton of milk from the fridge, and made my weary, half conscious way back to the sitting room to collapse on the sofa.

He was sleeping there, hair ruffled in the dozy, hideously Mister Oxenstierna type way that made my skin crawl. I regarded him for a moment, bleary and trying to process what I was seeing. He stirred, under my scrutiny, and popped open a single, vivid blue eye.

"Oh hello." He greeted me blithely. "I've been waiting for someone to come downstairs. Can I turn on TV now?"

"… Sure." I pressed my lips together, feeling right awkward in my underwear, and with a bubbly 'yay!' he jumped up and leapt on the remote.

I walked on dazed, jelly legs back up stairs, my brain filled with fuck and the bitter unfurling of fury tickling my gut.

…

"Tino!"

"What?" I was just about out the door, my bag over my shoulder and my wallet pregnant with allowance in my back pocket.

"Where are you going?" mum peered at me suspiciously over the back of the sofa. Peter had disappeared between when I got up initially and when I came back downstairs around one, so I assumed with only a brief stab of pain that sir had picked him up and taken him home. I was going to the mall, to gaze longingly at mouthguards, without fear that she might saddle the kid with me.

"Out?"

"Out where?"

"To the mall."

"Oh well would you like to come out with me this afternoon? I'm going to ikea, to pick up a new bed frame. My old one is-"

"No."

I didn't even have to think about it. As soon as she mentioned the word ikea, I was a no. that place had too many bad memories. Waaaaay to many.

"What? But Tino, I need some manpower, I cant lift-"

"Get your ride to carry it for you."

I wouldn't have usually been so crude, to my mother. But the situation called for it.

"My… what?" she obviously didn't get the reference. I sighed, rolling my eyes and closing the door.

"Mum… I really, _really_ don't want to go to ikea." I creased my brow and tried to look as aching as possible. "Please can't you just… go yourself?"

"I told you, I need your help." She stood up and switched off the TV.

Oh god she was doing the _thing_ again. That puppy, mother thing that they do, where they make you feel all guilty and gross and…

"Muuuummm…" I whined, rubbing my forehead. "Please can we not? Some other day, okay?"

"Wednesday after school?"

"Fine, that's fine. But right now, I'm going to the mall."

She huffed, pressing her lips together and giving me a torn, still slightly unimpressed look.

"Fine. Wednesday."

"Wednesday," I confirmed "and you can hold me too it."

That gave me three days to either come down with the flu, or brave up enough to go back to that place, where I had had fantasies of him fucking me on those cut-out kiddy bunks.

…

Regretfully, I managed neither, but still she had me wrestled into old jeans and a skivvy almost as soon as I arrived home that afternoon, much to my disgust.

"Ew, mum! Why this?"

"You are going to be doing hard work. Hard work means old clothes."

I grumbled, and dragged my hand through my hair. My bangs were getting long, when they fell forward they tickled my upper lip, and that was generally a sign they needed a cut.

"Fine."

I let her pull me to the car and settled happily enough in the front seat. My tummy was a wee bit churny, but not too much. I thought maybe, just maybe, I would be able to make this. Provided we didn't linger, or eat little Swedish meatballs with flags in. I was pretty sure if we did I would spew.

The drive down our street was average at best, she had been thoughtful enough to make me a cheese and pineapple sandwich though, and leave it in the front seat. I was finished before the turn off, and settled down almost as soon as we rounded into queen, the spinal road of our town which later down the line turned into highway. Fraught with boredom already, licking grated cheese off my fingers, I flicked on the radio. The edge was playing, my favoured station because it had a lot of death metal, and Mum pulled a face but said nothing. There was just something inherently calming about screaming instruments and hammering base, it distracted me from the ghosts that were bound to appear sooner but hopefully later, and by the time we reached the far side of the town, close to my school and the cafe I had gone with sir to, I felt pretty good. I was even singing along.

But then we made a strange turn down the wrong road, and I stopped.

We pulled up in front of a low wooden gate (packed by drifts of snow) only twenty or so metres in, a cleared garden path edging behind it up to a low doorstep. The house was tiny, a classic little cottage, sandwiched between the cottages terraced either side. It was in a charming part of the town, faced off the main road and onto a smaller, paved way that could have just as easily been pedestrians only. The lovely but sadly skeletal trees and pleasant little benches decorating the facing avenue were utterly adorable, and matched wonderfully with the brick and fluffy evergreens that overflowed from the gardens of neighbouring houses. Large, old fashioned lamps lit the street. There was a small kiosk, selling French hotdogs and sweets at the far end.

His house, the one with the pretty gold plate reading 'Oxenstierna residence' beside the door, was not the only one decorated with naked ivy and large bay windows. But it was the only one that made me want to not exist.

"No…"

"Hm?" Mum was fixing her hair in the sunshade mirror. "No what?"

"No why are we here?" even though it was actually pretty obvious. "Whose house is this? Please don't say who I think."

She lifted her eyebrows, and closed the mirror before pressing the heal of her palm in the centre of the wheel. Her horn squealed.

"It's Berwald's."

"…" I groaned burying my face in my hands.

I had asked her not to say that.

"Why is he coming?"

"I need muscles ti."

"Aren't I muscles enough?"

Obviously not, because there he was, stepping out of his house in a big coat and fedora hat. It would have been ridiculous. But it was too fucking hot.

"Not really love, you're only a boy." She clapped her mirror shut and glanced at him approaching through the window. He raised his hand in greeting, face set in stone, and she flushed happily. "Now be a doll and get in the back seat. Be won't fit."

"_Be won't fit_." I mouthed bitterly in mock, shoving my door open and stomping out. The back seat was five times too small for almost anyone of any age, especially me, and I struggled holding the door open when I climbed in.

"Need s'me h'lp?" he had appeared behind me, and I slipped when the door I had been holding was pulled back.

"No." I snapped, climbing in and folding my arms across my chest so as to prevent my heart breaking out of it. I avoided looking at him, because I could feel fire in my cheeks and taste the sour in my mouth. "But you can shut the door at least."

He did. And then he too, hopped in.

Oh this was not a nice surprise. Not a nice surprise at all.

…

"He was a little angel."

"I doubt th't."

"No seriously, he was. Such a pleasant boy. Tell me, does he often stay with his mother?"

My ears pricked against my will, and I had to correct myself, focusing on the seam of horizon along the highway. Half an hour in, the shock had worn off, and a dull grump had set over me as we headed out of town toward the big city. All they had done was talk about the illustrious Peter (I really did like that name) and other such boring, parental things, and I became aware for the first time how… old Mr Oxenstierna actually was. It was shocking. A little upsetting. He spoke (when prompted) in short of home ownership and dry, responsible roles. He was stout, matter of fact, and calm. He was, I suppose, _boring._ Odd, I had never considered that Berwald Oxenstierna might be boring. He just seemed so young, I thought that maybe he would have at least a few secret delights and tricks up his sleeve. But no. I worried that when we stopped, and we got out of the car, he would turn around and look at me with faded eyes, creased with crows feet, and his jowl would wobble with senility when he spoke. I felt a little bit… disgusted with myself. More so than usual.

But I couldn't help hear, if absently, his reply.

"He doesn't h've a moth'r. he w's a surrogate."

"Ohhh…" Mum seemed unsurprised, maybe a little smug. "Well, Tino's father died."

"h'w l'ng since?"

"Before he was born. Truth is I barely new him. We weren't married."

"h'wd y' meet?"

"He was travelling here in the military. He wasn't English, anyway. Some European thing? I gave Tino his same name though."

"Finnish." He commented flatly, and Mum shrugged.

"Might have been."

I knew the story already. Not having a father may have bothered me once upon a time but I was pretty over it now. At least, I thought I was. Of course, it could also be responsible for everything wring in my life but meh. The word turns on.

"I grew up in Swed'n. W'nt t' Finland once. Fins are re'l good look'ng people."

I almost laughed, the sheer stupidness of that comment taking me by surprise. Mum seemed a bit put out.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Small 'nd nice in th' face."

"His father was blonde."

"Blondes too." He said it as blandly as he may have stated the weather. "Th' women h've big breasts."

This time I actually did laugh. My mother was as flat as a pancake, and obviously this was on her mind when she cleared her throat awkwardly, and indicated to switch lanes.

"Breasts are unimportant."

He didn't say anything.

I could already see the hulking ikea building up ahead, and it seemed much bigger this time around. Once again I had to look between him (or, the back of his head), and it, noting the similarities and struggling to find differences beyond ones a building, the other a human being. Fascinating, if worrying. Also, I doubted the building would have looked _quite_ so good in that hat.

As if feeling me watch him, he turned his head an increment, and creased his brow. I could only see a fraction of his face, because of where I sat relative to him, but I was relieved to see that it was smooth and youthful as I had always perceived it to be, old man at heart or no.

"Wh'ts wrong tino?"

"… I like your hat."

He hummed. I narrowed my eyes.

It was as close to tolerant as I was going to get.

* * *

><p>i would just liek to draw y'alls attention to this, by the way. i forgot it when i updated last night and need to point it out please. so look at me, kay? look at me look at me look at meh? al looking? wunderbar. :)<p>

tora-star. deviantart. com /art/I-Got-You-Under-My-Skin-Fanart-279890775 by Tora-star

look everyone! my first ever piece of fanart ever! thank you so much. :3 i love it, much appreciated and ahhhhh~! *hugs everything*

:D


	8. Chapter 7

Important authors note at end

www. youtube. com/ watch?v= BUNXqZwJ0s0

…

"Tino."

I snapped my head around, fingers still fiddling with the swatches of fabric samples on the wall, and glared at him.

"What?"

"are y' going t' come with me and get the bed or are y' going with y'r mum."

Mum raised her keys and jingled them. "It's up to you Tino."

I sighed heavily and dropped my hand.

"What's mum doing?"

"I'm going to look at towels."

I pulled a face. If there was one thing I disliked more than hot motherfuckers (erm… pun not intended), it was looking at towels. Miserably for me, this was my mother's favoured hobby.

With a heavy sigh I dropped my hand from the swatch rack and brushed my fingers through my bangs. The three of us, standing in one of the model bedrooms in IKEA, had reached an impasse and it looked as though I was going to have to choose between two evils. Already. It had been bad enough trailing behind them, watching sirs ass in his stupid bootleg jeans going sway sway, and the way his shoulders held stiff and hot in the stitching of the sweater he had worn under his coat. It was bad enough standing and listening to mum deliberate over if she wanted the Veronica or the Marsden. It was bad enough that I had even agreed to come, but I have a bad habit of doing that sort of thing… ending up in ridiculous situations was pretty much my specialty. Unfortunate as it may be.

"I suppose I will go with him."

And I saw mum grin and nod approvingly, thought to tell her that it wasn't because I had decided I didn't hate him it was just because my hate for him was slightly less than my hate for towels, but did not. I did however try to make the best of a bad situation, and forced a little smile.

"If you go past the restaurant can you buy me some licorice?"

"Sure." She moved past me, ruffling my hair. "You boys be good. I will come by with the car and get yous when you're done."

Mr Oxenstierna hummed and I kept smiling coolly at her until she had passed. The second she was gone, bam, I felt the smile drip off my face like melted wax. My arms folded, and I regarded him.

As if intimidated by my glare (as if sir could be intimidated by anything) he avoided looking at me, instead bending to check the furniture details. I watched him straighten up and adjust his cuffs, before he actually met my eyes and spoke.

"Y'okay Tino?"

I pulled a face at him, as rude a one as I could manage without flipping him off, and pushed by, out of the model room with its fake bed and glitzy lamps and into the long meandering aisle. That was one thing I did like about IKEA, was that the floor plan of a single, long walkway leading through room after room of furniture and home wares was so damn idiot proof. Although it did present an irritation when all one needs is picture hooks and one must walk the whole damn circuit. Looking around the bedroom displays, I would make a guess that oriental style was in fashion this year, the dark wood and red walls quite prominent. I thought I liked the idea of a cottage bedroom better, but that was just me.

"Hurry up," I snapped at him. "We need to go get this bed."

And with a heavy sigh I heard him take in my wake.

…

The warehouse was… large. Like, really large. Four huge aisles of flat packages of every imaginable furniture. And forklifts. There were IKEA employees driving _forklifts_. It was fucking crazy. Luckily, he knew where to go. I followed him dutifully, my shoes slapping on the concrete floor, pulling at the collar of my top because it was really _hot_ in here for some reason. There were a few people around, most of them male, hauling flatpacks into trolleys, their wives paying at the checkouts at the other end of the warehouse, but no-one even looked twice at him, walking confidently toward a shelf of packs without even a nod of assistance from an employee. I could help feel a little nervous. After all, it seemed there was a regulation amount of confusion required, to navigate this place. You couldn't argue with the trend of drifting husbands and puzzled, chin tapping workers scurrying around with helpful smiles on their faces and a queue in front of the map by the main entrance. I wasn't sure it was wise of us to simply… disregard this. Maybe we should flounder around for a moment, look a bit blank.

And then suddenly I realised he was way ahead of me, approaching the aisle named 'FOUR: BEDROOM BATHROOM FURNITURE AND HARDWARE'. I got my ass into gear and jogged to catch up to him, latching his arm and yanking him around angrily.

"Hey!" I demanded. "You cant just ditch me."

"hm?" he glanced back with his one eyebrow lifted and I scowled, feeling my cheeks stain pale pink.

"Never mind."

And though I probably shouldn't have, I squeezed his arm tighter.

"Just… don't disappear like that. I don't like it here."

I didn't particularly. It was a bit… agoraphobic, and made me distinctly uncomfortable. He grunted, and pointed to the shelf we were addressing.

"Th's is it?"

"…" the tag did say 'Marsden'. I shrugged, and leaned forward to read the details. Apparently it was going to set us back 400 dollars.

"I suppose so."

"Did she w'nt white or wood?"

"White I guess." Shyly I stepped back and studied him. He watched me sideways, from the rim of his glasses, and I slipped my arm from his. It was awkward. Really awkward. Like meeting an ex on the street except we had never actually gone out. His cool blue eyes grazed me, and I lifted a finger to twirl my bangs.

"What?"

"hm?" I shrugged and he huffed, a strangled noise between a sigh and a groan, and bent to grab one of the three flat packs in the set. I watched him do it, a bit sulkily but he couldn't see that, and thought briefly of that drawing. Of the letter. And of his son…

"C'd y' go get me a trolley?" he asked flatly, setting the first flat pack in leaning position against a shelf and rising onto his impressive tippy-toes to reach for the next one. "W'th a thing on th' bottom."

I didn't respond, turning calmly away and heading to fetch a trolley.

When I got back, after several bewildered looks from employees who obviously didn't think that people were supposed to use trolleys without their assistance, he had all three down, the longest taller than him by about ten fat centimetres. It was impressive. How much muscle would a man need to get that down? A lot, was my guess. I liked muscle. I liked it _a lot_. And I liked watching the muscles described by his jumper flex, fanning and seizing as he lifted one of the packs and setting it into the trolley. I must say I have never been so impressed. If he caught me staring, he didn't say anything, instead gesturing for me to help and adjusting his glasses. I grunted, and bent to assist with the last box.

We got it into the trolley, he dusted his hands off…

And then he cleared his throat and tapped my shoulder. Startled, I turned to stare at him.

"What?"

"I w's just…" he trailed off, and for the first time in history I noticed the slightest hint of unsurity in his voice. Or… maybe not. His face was stern and unchanged. "I wond'red if y'-"

"Oh there you boys are!"

My mothers voice interrupted, all very unexpectedly too, and caught between shock and confusion I didn't miss the pale colouring that rose in his ears. My brows knotted, and my jaw loosened in surprise.

"Yeah." He looked to the trolley and flexed his shoulders. "stuffs th're."

She grinned, and trotted forward to take it. Obviously, she had finished towel shopping, and had come through to fetch us and pay for her bed. That is, if the bag of towels and a soap holder she held in her left hand told anything. I fell quickly behind her, as she began to push the trolley away, and sir brought up my rear, stepping precisely and calmly, his scent twirling and eddying on the peripheral of my senses.

It was not easy to be tolerant, but it was a lot harder to hate him, for all he was he was still mister Oxenstierna.

…

I spent all of the drive home pondering what it was he had been about to say. 'I wondered if you had forgiven me yet?' 'I wondered if you had stopped writing porn about me yet?' 'I wondered if you might want to come back to my class?'

Knowing sir, it was probably that last one.

It was dark when we arrived back to town, and mum dropped him off at his house with a brief kiss and a promise that the unassembled bed would be waiting for his handiwork on the weekend. I looked on stubbornly, thinking that there would be no way in hell she would con me into helping with that shit. No way in hell at all.

…

But she had me stumped when rather than ask or mention it or anything, she took flight Saturday morning and I was met with a placid looking Peter Oxenstierna when I made my way downstairs to get a coffee.

"Uh… hello?" I greeted him, and he gave me a pleasant smile.

"hello." He chirruped. "Your mum left you a note on the fridge I think."

"Oh…" I glanced down at my oversized t-shirt and boxers, and was glad I had decided to put some pants on before I came down stairs, before looking back up and wandering lamely into the kitchen. What was going on? He hadn't been here last night had he, and I had just not noticed?

Hanamatango wove around my feet excitedly, and I picked her up as I read the note on the fridge, feeling disbelief settle over me as I did so.

_Tino, _the note read.

_Morning sweet. Hope you haven't  
>slept to late again, as I have been<br>called urgently into work and have  
>left peter with you. Be will be<br>around later this afternoon to help  
>with the bed (around 12 he said)<br>and he will take him home from  
>there. Be good, be FRIENDLY,<br>and have a good day  
>Mummy.<em>

Oh well fuck me.

I pulled the note from the fridge in disbelief and turned it over, to search for the words 'april fools' somewhere on it, though it was the middle of winter. She had to be kidding me, right? How could she mean, she has 'left Peter with me'? How can she leave Peter with me? I hadn't said I even wanted to babysit the kid! Let alone if I wasn't getting paid for it or anything! Ohh, that really flicked a few of my switches alright. Bemused, I set the note on the bench and looked helplessly around the kitchen. What? Just… what?

I edged back into the sitting room awkwardly, sliding out the door with my back against the wall in the sort of way one might approach a monster, or something particularly terrifying. I don't know why, peter seemed perfectly happy and contented to be sitting on the sofa watching Spongebob Squarepants flail flamboyantly right across the sea bottom, and he certainly didn't seem a _threat_. I think. Hana seemed to like him anyway, apparently his illustriousness was an effective persuasive technique, and I guess… he seemed nice enough? I guess…

"Er, hey." I tried to strike conversation, and he looked up at me with eager blue eyes.

"Hey?"

"Yeah. Um…" I chewed my lip, feeling a bit dumb. "So have you eaten yet?"

In reply he lifted a bag of crisps off the coffee table and smiled. "Yup."

"oh… kay then." I tried to smile, and it felt a bit flimsy. "Is that enough?"

"Sure." He grinned at me, and pushed his fringe out of his eyes. "Do you wanna come watch Spongebob with me?"

"… yeah." I thought about it for a moment, and nodded. "Yeah I do. Move over."

He laughed, and shuffled over in his seat.

As it turns out, Peter Oxenstierna was not that bad. He was actually kind of cool, really friendly and talkative, which I appreciated in a person, and polite. He seemed eager to tell me about his life and times too, which was very cute if occasionally bewildering. I noted that if I ever wanted to know anything about my former graphics teacher, potential step-father, then Peter was the person to ask.

"Pappa draws a lot." He told me excitedly, swinging his legs and shovelling chips into his mouth like it was going out of fashion. "Mostly furniture but sometimes people. It's so cool to watch, he just puts his pen down and then BAM its there. I asked him to teach me how but I wasn't very good at It." his face fell and he looked sad. "Pappa always told me that I could do whatever I wanted to do, if I was good at it or it made me happy. I guess I'm just bummed that I don't have anything like that yet, yeah? But don't worry! One day I'm going to be big and cool like my Pappa!"

I couldn't help but chuckle, amused.

"You think?"

"Yeah! I could also decide to be like… little and pretty. That way I could marry a lady like Pappa, who could take care of me and stuff when I move away from home. But I don't think I will be like that though. I'm not really a little and pretty sort of person." He grinned and ruffled his hair. "You are though. You are really pretty. If I were a big scary girl I would ask you on a date."

I laughed loudly at this, and rolled my eyes.

"Does it not matter I'm all old and stuff?"

"Nope!"

"aww well thanks I guess. A compliment is a compliment."

Goddamnit why could I only get one of them hot for me! Ughh… how irritating…

I passed the remainder of the time in such doldruming frustrations, moving from my corner on the sofa only when the door bell clanged, and I leapt up anticipating my mother home early.

No such luck. The hulking man who blocked the door when I opened it did not wait around to be invited in. He simply placed his hand on the door frame and stepped closer.

"H'llo Tino." He mumbled "I'm here t' fix up th' bed frame?"

"Oh yeah." I stepped aside sourly, trying not to be affected by his general gorgeousness. "Well go ahead then. I expect it's in mums room."

I intended, as soon as he had come into my house, to grab the dog and leash from the sitting room and make myself scarce, while he sorted out his affairs. But somehow or another, I ended up helping.

...

"No, that one goes here!" I told him, as firmly as I could. "you're wrong, okay?"

He shook his head.

"'M not wrong."

"You are! Look!" I pointed at the instructions, loosing patience, and then the funny shaped bit of wood I would never have thought might belong in a bed. "This business goes there, and then _that_," I pointed to the bit he held. "Goes inside it."

He raised his brows quizzically, and looked between the pieces for a moment.

"Maybe," he told me, after a while. "If y' want'd t' build a sofa."

"… Well maybe I do want to build a sofa!" feeling stupidly immature I shoved the instructions at him and stuck out my tongue. "Maybe that would be a fun time."

Sir just looked at me lamely and sighed.

"Do y' think you could calm down for a bit Tino? Just h'p me build this _without_ a fuss f'r once?"

"Fuss?" I pulled back, offended. "I'm not making a fuss!"

"Y' are. Y' got y'r defences so high y' can't even see over them right n'w."

Well that was bullshit! Oh my god, what did he think he was, a shrink?

Okay… maybe he was sort of right.

In truth, I didn't _mean_ to come across as defensive and bratty. I swear I only had the best intentions now, but as it were, I swung a lot, because teenagers are stupid and that's just what we do, okay? Sometimes I kind of got hooked up on the little things that stung, like the way he brushed his short hair off his brow, and so to counteract that… I kind of acted in some stupid ways. I was still acting in some stupid ways. It would have taken a man much more mature and smart than I to tolerate what was happening in my life and brain right now without going a little bit loopy with resentment. It was natural instinct to put my defensive on, all I wanted was to get out of this situation that was making me uncomfortable. Was that too difficult an ask?

"I'm sorry." I told him, tightly, but not dishonestly. "This is difficult, that's all."

"I kn'w," he set the pieces of bed down on the floor and then knelt beside the half constructed thing in the middle of my mothers empty bedroom. The sound of Peter watching TV floated lazily up the stairs. Hana darted in and out of the room occasionally, to check on our progress. We had been up here for about twenty minutes, and we were nearly done. All that needed to be finished was the legs and headboard, then the mattress and sheets which sir was going to have to bring in from the shed. It was sad really, that I could only last twenty minutes of being civil.

"It's hard f'r me too. I've been waiting t' talk t' y' f'r ever."

"Pft." I tossed my head in dismissal, dropping beside him and folding my arms. "Whatever. You could have just grabbed me at school at any time. You could have just come by. But instead you just carried on, fucking my mother and leaving me stupid letters."

His expression flickered in confusion for a moment.

"L'tters?"

"You could have talked to me in the car last weekend, or you could have mentioned it and then I would have gone to find you. Instead you just ignore me, pretend I don't exist, and now it's too late, okay? Too. Goddamned. Late." I huffed and rubbed my neck protectively. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be this way but I just am. You can't expect too much from me alright?"

Sir was silent for a moment, and then he sighed, reaching for the screwdriver on the carpet by his foot and rolling it in his hands.

"God Tino. Sometimes y' confuse me so much I don't ev'n think YOU kn'w what y'r thinking."

"Yeah well." I scowled, feeling a little tug on my feelings when he pretty much nailed it. "That's my entitlement as a teenager okay?"

"No, Tino, its not. Y' need t' grow up. Y' need t' learn t' act your age. Y're worse than peter, expecting oth'r people t' kn'w what y're thinking and act accordingly, when all y' ever do is send mixed messages. Y' run away from problems oth'r people want t' face and then when y' decide y're ready to deal with them everyone else has moved on. And th'n you throw a tantrum because y' don't get y'r own way. Its stupid, and I believe that s'me part of y' kn'ws that. D' y' understand?"

I sucked my teeth bitterly, not choosing to answer his question because I couldn't disagree. Bu so what! I was allowed that! Everyone was entitled to that!

"Y' live in a dream w'rld Tino. Not everything in life is going t' be sunshine and roses. Y' can't keep telling y'self it will."

"I don't!"

"Y' do! Y' think of y'rself as a victim of everything except y'r own naivety."

Oh no way was I going to reply to that! So insulting! So degrading! So…

True.

He left it in silence for a while, listening to the sound of me silently seething, silently screaming at him with every fibre of my mettle. I wondered if he knew, that inside my brain I was punching his face, the only external gesture betraying me the slight tremble in my hands. After a while, he took a deep breath.

"I kn'w y're a good kid Tino. And I kn'w that one day y're going to be a wonderful, happy man. The aft'rnoon in th' coffee shop, I really thought ev'rthing was going t' be alright. Y' seemed so calm, so… adult." He hesitated. "aft'r y' got all the hurt out of y' I mean. I kn'w how much of a shock it must have been, about y'r mum…"

"No." I told him softly. "You have no idea."

"And I wish I had been brave enough t' apologise earlier, but it was hard t' do okay? y're not the only person in the world with feelings." He carried on as though he hadn't heard me, and then left it be, his statement ringing with a strange finality that explained he had more he _wanted_ to say, but there was no way he was just going to out and say it. I could feel by the hurried way his last words came out, that he had already said more than he had planned. I sniffed, feeling prickly and awkward, and fiddled with the cuff of my jeans.

"Feelings." I murmured, parroting him so weakly I was surprised he could even hear it. "Maybe I would believe it if you acted like it. Instead of like some kind of calm ass terrifying robot all the time."

"I told y', its hard f'r me."

"Well clearly." My voice lifted to talking volume, edged with a hotness that was different to before. It wasn't injured or angry, so much as tired, promising forgiveness under the irritation but only a little. "I still don't understand what was going through your head this whole time, I don't understand anything. I just… I'm sick of being angry, okay? I'm sick of being embarrassed, and hurt, and obsessed. But I can't help it its just how things are for me at the moment and I'm trying and trying but every way I try its like my emotion is being totally ignored. It's like you don't even _care_, regardless of what you say. Its like you are just trying to pretend I don't exist…"

"Tino."

"And I know its dumb but I'm dumb. Okay. I'm a big fat dummy."

Quiet. Just a stretch of nervous, delicate quiet, our thoughts swirling openly in the air.

"Tino I don't think y're dumb." His shoulders sagged and he lifted his eyes from the screwdriver, turning his head a little to regard me. In that light, slicing through the ice-glassed window in my mothers room, in that moment, I could have believed him seventeen.

"… You don't?"

"No." he shook his head a little and sighed, blue eyes sliding anxiously (_anxiously?_) aside me, tongue flicking his upper lip. "I think y're just…"

My heart swelled for a moment, my vision swimming. What was happening? Was this real? The air was suddenly strange and liquid, but I didn't have much time to consider this, because then,

Mr Oxenstierna kissed me.

…

Wat.

I don't know whattt am I doing woith my life my everythonb okay? I have a confession to make, I haven't written anything for hetalia for MONTHS and I wrote all of this this morning and I cant remember the plot. I dunno. I have just lost muse and inspiration. The only reason I did this was because a irl friend of mine found my fanfiction page and DIDN'T run away from me screaming and so we talked about how guilty I felt for not updating and so that made me think and now im here loosing control of my life.

But. I am going to finish this fic.

Okay.

I promise.

Hetalia is not my intellectual property.


	9. Chapter 8

I AM GETTING THERE! Slowly. Somehow.

May I just say that there is an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT currently posted on my profile concerning this fic and numerous others. I would sincerely appreciate it, if you could ach of you READ IT, and take it into account from now on. Thank you.

…

www. youtube watch? v=oQAXoqV3fjs

…

"Hey Tino, where's Be and peter."

"Gone." I told her, a little too quick to be innocent. "Something about a doctor's appointment? I don't know."

Truth? There was no doctor's appointment. After he kissed me he just sort of finished the bed and hurried out without an explanation. Rude, but forgivable because right now I felt a little bit as though I could die from excitement and happiness. That doesn't mean that I wasn't you know… fraught with guilt and self hatred. After all he was dating my mother.

That aside the fact that he _liked _me, the fact that he_ kissed_ me. That just… it was driving me mad. I couldn't sit still, I couldn't relax. Every part of my body was dancing crazy and a part of me wondered if I would ever be able to cry again. Ever.

"Oh…" Mum looked a little dejected, I tried to darken my face a little, avoiding her eye and focusing on pulling open the fridge. I wasn't hungry, but you know… it gave me something to occupy my hands. "Well did he say anything? When he might call maybe?"

"Um, no. nothing. But you know… could be anytime." I found a carrot in the vegetable crisper and decided this would do. Mum watched me distantly as I wandered to the sink and gave it a wash, and I felt _very_ self conscious in the way where you feel someone's eyes on you, and that just makes you feel clumsy in the feet and you forget to walk. It was stupid. Christ, I needed to calm the hell down. Deep breaths. Was I sure that she couldn't see it on my face? Were there any give away signs, marks on my mouth or a fat red arrow pointing at my head? I had checked the mirror before she had gotten home but couldn't remember.

"But hey, I'm going to run upstairs and do some homework. Don't interrupt me unless the house is on fire okay?"

Actually I needed to run up stairs and bury my face in my pillow and flail excitedly, but homework sounded a lot less like I had just been macking on my mother's boyfriend. Mum gave me a look which I _almost_ caved under, my face burning, my toes wiggling impatiently in my socks, before heaving a sigh and waving her hand.

"Fine. Do you want some dinner?"

"No thanks, I'm good." I bit off a lump of carrot and gave her a feral grin, before sweeping out of the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time.

Holy shit that had just happened.

_Holy shit_ I had just covered my ass up in front of my mothers face.

Did that make me the proverbial 'other woman'? Did that make me a lying whore? What were the rules on child-spouse cheating anyway? Did it still count as adultery even though I was underage?

I reached the top of the stairs and turned toward my room, still running these questions through my head.

Cheating was _wrong_, I knew that. Playing with peoples emotions like puppets on strings, lying, sneaking around, but what about the feelings of those _doing_ the cheating. What about me, who had been mad on sir for what felt like an age now, finally having achieved my goal. Was I in the wrong? I saw him waaay before mum did, after all, and that gave me first dibs didn't it? So who was wrong.

_He is_, my conscience whispered. _He's fucking with you and your mother_.

But I told myself to shut up. I had seen that light in his eyes, the nervous turn of the corner of his lips… Mr Oxenstierna _liked_ me. He really liked me, and it was my mother who was in the way of that. After all, it wouldn't be an easy feat, dumping woman like my mother…

Okay, maybe it would, I wouldn't know, I know little of the complications of dating and emotion and dumping people. All I knew then was that I could still feel the warmth of his kiss, and I wanted no place to lay the blame because as far as I was concerned there was none, and everything was good, right, and as it should be until I can talk to him, perhaps kiss him some more.

I made it to my room and clicked my door shut, hesitating on the back side of it and reflecting on the dark, cruel little voice inside that told me _you will never kiss him again._

That doubt was going to bother me, I knew it. When the euphoria faded, and I was left alone awaiting the Monday I see him again, it was this doubt that was going to flicker to the surface of my mind unexpectedly, in an attempt to curb my hope before I ended up broken and hurt again. It was going to be the re-occurring nightmare, the bad stone in a good thing. It would make my heart palpitate and my legs shake, my stomach squirm and maybe even earn a few tears, because I was a worrisome person and honestly, I still didn't _know_ sir. I didn't know it at all. He didn't seem the type to kiss without meaning it, or to kiss for the sake of cruelty, but he did seem like the type to blithely overlook something as important as my feelings for reasons I probably don't understand.

That scared me.

I pushed the thought out of my head and tried to focus on the happiness. I could deal with my insecurities and doubts later.

…

I was right about the uncertainty haunting me, and by Monday morning the gladness of the kiss experience had faded to little more than a grey dust, its impermanence a sobering mirror of life in general.

Strange how the things that make a person happy never seem to last long.

Nerves had kept me up since four am, ghostly shadows ringed my eyes and my hair was buzzed with static or twitchy guilt, it was hard to tell, as I walked to school. Not even the cold could remedy this, and so in the end I wore a beanie to school to keep it flat, arriving later than usual with pink cheeks and fully fledged dragons circling in my gut.

Today I was going to see sir. Today was the maker or the breaker…

I went to my locker, dumped my books, and selected the few for my first period classes all before the bell signalling form class tolled. I took a path there that passed by the graphics block (after almost thirty seconds of unsurity and nervous deliberation) and was sorely disappointed when I saw not hide nor hair of the man. And that 'sorely' is an understatement, it felt like someone had dropped bricks into my tummy, and all the dragons were having a fight about it. Despair filled me momentarily

_He doesn't want to see you, he hasn't come today_

But then I found myself being swept into class by the second bell, dropping into my seat.

I was held in paralysed anxiety for the next two classes as well, and it wasn't until the bell for break rung that I was free to leap up and fling myself at the door, my one leg numb from where I had been jiggling it all class, and practically flying out of the English department toward graphics, through the door of his deserted classroom.

"Sir?" I called, my voice shaking as much as my heart was shivering in my chest. "Sir are you here? I need to talk to you."

Silence.

Just reaching silence.

I whined and dropped in the shoulders, almost collapsing into a puddle on the floor. He wasn't here, after all. He had decided he didn't want to see me… I was done. I may as well just mope back to the canteen and try not to spend the entire break sobbing my eyes out.

"Tino?" a surprised inquiry snapped me out of it and I almost tripped, turning so fast it threw me off balance. Sir caught me expertly, one hand securing around my forearm, and the touch was positively electric, I felt coursing through every nerve in my body. "What are y' doin' here?"

"I…"

Truth was, I wasn't really sure.

"I wanted to see you."

Sir blinked at me, from behind the square glass obscuring his eyes, and loosened his hand on my arm. He exhaled deeply and lifted a hand, to rub the back of his neck. He looked positively mouth watering today, in his favoured bootleg trousers and blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. I could see his muscles, the fine golden hair on his lower arms, and the sight made me feel like melting from the inside.

"oh." he twitched his eyebrows up in an unsurprised gesture and nodded to the door to his office. "well, d' you want t' come into m' off-"

"Yes." I cut him off swiftly and took an urgent step toward the office. My skin was beginning to tingle and my face was warm, but in a pleasant way rather than an awkward one. My lips were hot, hungry for his again. Some part of me threatened to explode with excitement. What was he going to _do_ to me in there? Kiss me, touch me…

Fuck me.

No. shush brain. That's inappropriate.

Sir followed me noiselessly to his office and unclocked the door over my shoulder, scooting me in. as soon as the door was shut he pushed me gently aside and strode to his window, drawing the curtains and dimming the room so he had to turn on the desk lamp by the box of tissues on his workbench.

"Lock th' door." He told me quietly. With shaking hands, I obliged.

And as soon as I had done so, and turned back to look to him again, he was there, in front of me, his hands seizing my shoulders and his mouth hunting for mine again. He had to bend awkwardly to reach, the height difference between us ridiculous in the best of ways, but oh it was even more stunning the second time, when I knew what was going on, and when I could be completely assured that it was not just a spur of the moment thing, it was not just a crazy whim, an accident, or a tease. Sir _wanted_ me.

His lips expressed the things his face never could, things like tenderness, affection, frustration and best of all desire. Perfect desire, and it was sweet and gentle and fierce and painful all at once. The brief moment it lasted dragged on for an age, and when we parted again I was breathless, dizzy, my lips moist and tender, my neck sore from holding it stiffly for his convenience.

"I really like y' Tino." He murmured, and I could smell him, feel his breath against the shell of my ear. "I can't stand it wh'n y'r mad at me."

"… I'm not mad at you." I assured him, hesitantly at first and bewildered because where had _that_ come from? "I promise I'm not mad."

"Y'r a good kid Tino." He curled his arms around my shoulders and pulled me to his chest, and my own heart nearly leapt out of my mouth because I could hear _his_ through the cage of his ribs, I could feel him breathing, and he was warm and firm and oh _god_ suddenly he was not just a handsome aspiration in the frame of my mind he was a man, a real human being, and he was holding me like I was breakable, some kind of doll.

This was everything I had dreamed and more. I wanted it to never end, I wanted to sear it onto my memory and my senses for always.

…

"So… what are we?" I looked at him sideways over his desk, not quite sure if I wanted to hear his answer. "And what about my mum"

Sir sighed heavily and pented his fingers over the surface, elbows resting on the edge. He looked troubled. More troubled than usual anyway, the darkness over his face deepened by the creases in his pulled brow.

"I dunno." He mumbled, honestly. "'m sorry, I dunno."

I hummed, suddenly feeling clumsy and uncomfortable in my skin, still dizzy from his embrace and seized with the oddest, most tremendous urge to holler loudly in triumph.

"Well um… do you like my mum?" I tried with the first, most obvious question to ask.

He shrugged.

"She's alr'ght. Nice lady."

"… but do you _like_ her? You know…"

Like her, like her. I tried to imply this, and I think he understood but didn't want to say so, because he looked away and cleared my throat.

"What?"

"My mum. Are you…" I pulled a face. "Romantically interested in her?"

"Oh." He blinked, looking back to me, but not quite _at_ me, his gaze hovering somewhere around my shoulder. "W'll, its like this. No. but, at my age, y' get lonely, y' know?"

I wasn't sure how to take this. Sure it was a relief to hear that he wasn't into the woman, it was also a bit tender because that was my _mum_, I felt her pain. As much as we were competitors for the prize.

"'m not fussy about who I settle d'wn with, Tino. B't I am fussy about oth'r things."

"Oh."

I still didn't understand, this conversation was getting way too adult and way too deep for me to handle right then. Besides, I was still much too buzzed by the whole kiss thing to be thinking too hard about the ethical implications of such an act.

"But you do like me right?" I gushed, wanting to just hear him _say_ it goddamn.

"…" he gave me a look, that dry, unimpressed look that he usually reserved only for students that didn't do their assignments on time.

"Yes." He told me shortly. "Clearly I do."

I almost fell through the floor. There were few occasions in my life, in which I wanted to fall through the floor, and most of them were on account of humiliation. This was the first time I had ever felt it because of excitement.

…

Sir gave me a kiss on the cheek before he ushered me out of his office, and I practically tripped over myself on my excited dash to the library and Em, because I _had_ to tell someone and who else could I possibly trust? After all, Em already knew about my… feelings, and he was a pretty relaxed, pretty calm guy who was much less likely than anyone else on earth to 'freak out' because of the whole C-H-E-A-T-I-N-G thing, considering how he had responded when I had come to him the first time.

Or so I thought.

He was in the office when I got there, ignoring the bell that signalled the breaktime termination completely and flinging myself heedlessly into the room. He looked up, eyes wide behind his reading glasses, and set down the novel he was reading.

"Morning Tino."

"Morning." I beamed at him, pulling out a second seat and dropping into it, rubbing my hand over the cheek which sir had kissed so sweetly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine… same as always I sup-"

"I don't care, I have news!"

It was rude, but I just couldn't listen to his calm drone much longer. I ejaculated the words without care, an excitable eruption I was sure he would forgive.

He blinked at me in distinct surprise, but then shrugged, settling back in his chair and reaching for his half drunk cup of coffee on his desk.

"Okay then."

I grinned harder and moved my hand away from my cheek.

"Is my cheek red?"

His brow scrunched and he leaned forward, to examine it. I rolled my eyes, but bit my lip and indulged his calmness.

"You're blushing." He informed me, as if I didn't already know. "What happened?"

I almost jumped out of my chair when he asked. It was crazy, like that feeling one gets when they consume too much sugar. One twitches, wiggles… one cannot sit still. Yep well that was me right now. I was almost delirious.

"Sir kissed me!" I exclaimed, perhaps unwisely, before checking if there was anyone else in the room. Fortunately for me, there was not, just crooked stacks of books and a passive looking Emil, but much to my frustration he made me wait a needlessly long length of time before he responded, clicking his tongue and crossing his legs smoothly.

"Wow." He remarked, almost to himself. "I never would have imagined he would actually do it."

I frowned, not quite understanding.

"What do you mean?"

Emil shook his head and sighed, combing his fingers through his clean snowy hair.

"I didn't think that Berwald Oxenstierna would actually be the sort of man to… go for someone like you. Especially when he's dating someone else."

For some reason, this statement of personal assumption irritated me. Why was he questioning the man's actions? Couldn't he just be excited that I had finally gotten what I wanted? I puffed my cheeks and folded my arms across my chest.

"How would you know?" I asked, "You're just the school librarian. You don't know him."

The palest shadow of a smile flickered at the corner of Emil's mouth.

"We have spoken, on occasion. I don't know, he just didn't give me that impression is all. That being said…" a shrewd look raked me head to toe, and I challenged him by lifting my eyebrows. "You don't look very much like the whore either. I suppose everyone can surprise someone once or twice."

I huffed and smacked a hand on my knee impatiently.

"Em can you be a little excited for me?"

"I am excited for you."

"You were the one who told me that I could go out with my mother's boyfriend!"

"Tino. Shh. This is a library." Em raised a hand and my argument fell silent in my throat. Goddamn him, and goddamn the rules. Ugh.

I glowered at him, suddenly angry. How had I gone from excited to furious so fast? It was hard to tell… once again subject to the turmoil of my emotions, I declined to even question it.

"And yes I know I said that, however I am still surprised."

"Yes I can tell!"

I couldn't, actually. I hoped the sarcasm wouldn't be lost on him. He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head.

"God Tino, don't go loosing your shit. It's okay. I'm happy for you." He smiled at me kindly and leant forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. "But… if you don't mind me asking… are _you_ happy for you?"

What?

I stared at him mutely for five seconds, before laughing.

I realised he was being serious, made sense of it in my mind, and then before I could help myself a fat giggle slipped out. I slapped my hand over my mouth because holy crap, what kind of a dumb question is that? Seriously? I had just been hit on slash kissed slash adored by the most perfect man ever, who I had liked for _ages_, and Em actually had the audacity to ask me if I was happy?

I had a half mind to say no, that I was deeply fucking depressed about it, and see what he said in return, but no. I ended up scoffing, running my fingers over my cheek again.

"Of course I am happy!"

He smiled that small, Emil smile, and nodded.

"Good. Good. I'm glad… it takes a strong kid to overcome the guilt this sort of thing must entail."

And when the man who had given me advice on how to make this happen, _and_ told me that it was A-Okay, posed me this I was shaken.

My confidence and joy about what was happening in my life faltered, and it took me a long while sitting there and staring at him before I could recover.

…

Extra Fic, Berwald POV… Tumblr link: fanslewfantasy. tumblr post/ 28323112643/igyums-for-anon

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